Spirits Cry
by Wild Magelet
Summary: Daine Numair. Warning: fluff ahead! :) A new kingdom has been discovered, but it's the new wild mage who's really creating a stir! Daine's worried, Numair's jealous, and trouble is brewing...
1. Storms, Books and Kisses

A/N: I'm really not sure about this fic, so if it's bad, I'm sorry! I recently re-read ROTG, but I haven't read the others for a while, so I'm also worried about getting details wrong. If there's any obvious mistakes, again, sorry! Also, I love fluff. If you don't like fluff, I don't recommend reading my stories! :)  
  
..........................  
  
Daine stumbled down the narrow passage of the ship, cursing aloud as it listed violently and she was flung against the wall. Mithros' wrath on the fool who'd come up with the idea of traveling across water! Rough, stormy, unpredictable water, at that. Barely catching herself from tumbling down yet again, she glared at nothing in particular, and reluctantly supposed that she ought to be grateful no one was around to witness her tottering, unsteady gait.  
  
_'Two-leggers are so clumsy.'_  
  
Daine halted, braced herself against a wooden door, and frowned at the Captain's cat as he sailed airily past.  
  
'Where are you going?' she asked curiously.  
  
The enormous tabby's belly swayed as he walked – with a coveted sure- footedness – in the opposite direction, towards the lurching stairwell.   
  
_'To the brig,'_ the gargantuan animal explained, in a slightly haughty manner, _'I'm hungry. If I just lie down with my mouth open, some of those silly rats might tumble right in, the next time the ship rolls.'_  
  
Daine shook her head, and clutched at her roiling middle with one hand. It flopped over in protest at the very thought of eating anything, let alone rats.  
  
Spreading her fingers against the reassuringly solid door, she let her head thump back against it gently, and sighed. They hadn't been on the ship above twelve nights now, and she was already craving the feel of solid ground beneath her feet. Anything but this fair wretched swaying!  
  
She briefly toyed with the idea of taking bird-form for awhile. The memory of soaring weightlessly on the breeze was so close, and so tempting, that she could almost touch it... but she quelled the urge. Numair had forbidden her to leave the ship during storms, fearing that she might become lost, or lose her strength in the strong winds, or something silly like that. Her mind had wandered a little during that particular lecture. She could always ignore him, it would hardly be the first time, but he'd been so earnest and worried...and so uniquely persuasive.  
  
Daine couldn't stop a blush as she remembered the form his persuasion had taken. Reaching up, she absently rubbed her hands over her burning face, as if trying to scrub the redness away.  
  
A moment later, she was lying flat on her back and blinking up at the swaying ceiling in confusion.  
  
A concerned face loomed over her, and the subject of her...rather indecent...thoughts let go of the doorknob and crouched at her side.  
  
"Magelet," Numair said worriedly, touching her face, "Are you alright? I'm sorry, sweet. You must have been leaning against the door. I didn't know you were there..."  
  
Gods, Daine thought wryly, the storm must be dulling her senses if she hadn't recognised whose room she'd stopped outside of. Especially since its occupant had been her reason for risking life and limb in this dratted corridor. She had to talk to him – and she'd been hoping to have the chance to...offer some persuasion of her own.  
  
And now she was blushing again.  
  
Actually, she mused, shifting around slightly, it was quite nice on the floor. Her belly wasn't protesting as passionately, and her body moved with the motion of the unsteady vessel – which sure beat being hurled into walls every second step.  
  
"I was just coming to find you...sweetling?"  
  
Belatedly, Daine realized that Numair was still talking, and reached up a hand to his lips, halting the apologetic monologue.  
  
"I'm fine, Numair," she promised, her hand straying to smooth back an errant strand of black hair. Then she scowled. "Well, as fine as I can be on this Gods cursed boat!"  
  
Numair tucked her hand into his, and squeezed it gently, rubbing his thumb over her sparkling betrothal ring.  
  
"I know it's rough, magelet, but hopefully it won't be too many more days."  
  
"One more day is too many," Daine said darkly.  
  
There was a brief silence, and she shivered as Numair's other hand teased gently around the hem of her shirt, pulling it from her breeches and stroking the soft skin of her waist.  
  
"Daine?"  
  
"Mmm?"  
  
"You're still on the floor."  
  
Daine stretched contentedly.  
  
"I know. It's the first time I've been comfortable for hours. Except..."  
  
Frowning, she arched up and felt around beneath her back. Triumphantly, she hauled out an ancient-looking book, threads hanging from the spine, and waved it at Numair, cocking an amused brow. Looking around, her gaze fell on the many like it strewn across the floor.  
  
She wondered if Numair had actually left anything back in Tortall, and asked.  
  
He considered the question seriously.  
  
"Well, I don't know anything about the Sailan Isles, so I thought I'd better bring...don't be sarcastic."  
  
Daine grinned up at him cheekily.  
  
"What are you doing all the way up there?" she asked the lanky mage.  
  
Catching Numair off guard, she tugged hard on his hand, and giggled as he fell across her.  
  
Her laughter abruptly stopped, however, when Numair – supporting his weight on his elbows – moved to lie more comfortably above her, his forehead resting against her own. Stretching out a leg, he kicked the door shut.  
  
His lips – quirked in a wicked smile – met hers, and any lingering amusement faded as he kissed her, at first with gentle exploration and then with a growing urgency.  
  
Daine twined her arms around his neck, and held him tight, her legs moving restlessly against his.  
  
Lips skating down her cheek and along her jaw, Numair buried his face in her neck and nuzzled. For a long moment, he stayed like that, his breath tickling her flesh. She relaxed and closed her eyes, soothed by his warm weight and familiar scent.  
  
Then, lifting his head, he butted his nose gently against hers and Daine – for once – found herself without words, as she looked into his eyes and saw the adoration and desire that burned brightly in them.  
  
"I love you, magelet," he told her sincerely, shifting to lie against her side, arms encircling her tightly.  
  
"And I love you back," Daine returned firmly.  
  
Brief silence.  
  
"But we have to get up."  
  
"We do?" Numair didn't sound enthusiastic. He kissed her beneath her ear lobe and tugged gently on a brown curl. "Why?"  
  
Daine couldn't remember.  
  
"Because...uh...oh...Alanna."  
  
"Alanna?" Numair walked playful fingers along her collarbone and rested his hand against the pulse point in her neck.  
  
Her breath hitched.  
  
"A- " she cleared her throat and pushed his hands away, mock-frowning at him, "Alanna wants to speak to us. So behave."  
  
Numair inhaled sharply, catching the fingers that had moved to slide slyly beneath his shirt.  
  
"If I have to behave, you have to behave," he informed her, grinning.  
  
Reluctantly pushing himself to his feet, Numair straightened to his full height, and reached a hand down to help his rather disheveled love.  
  
They sheepishly straightened their clothing and hair, and Daine rolled her eyes good-naturedly when Numair showed signs of fussing over his.  
  
She walked – stumbled – to the door, groaning as her insides launched into full rebellion again.  
  
Numair followed, catching and supporting her under the arms when the floor rolled.  
  
"Remind me never to get on a ship again after this."  
  
"We still have to get back to Tortall."  
  
"I'll fly."  
  
"You will not."  
  
Daine frowned at him, knowing better than to argue. She'd learned to pick her battles with Numair. That way, she usually won.  
  
"I may have to stay in the Sailan Isles then. I wonder what it's like there," she said, anticipation growing beside the nausea in her belly.  
  
Several months ago, a Tortallan fleet had discovered the Sailan Isles, a kingdom about twenty nights' journey from their homeland. Tortall's eagerness to make contact with the Sailan people was apparently reciprocated, and Daine, Numair, Alanna and Queen Thayet were amongst those who had departed for the Isles. King Jon had stayed behind, to keep an eye on any potential trouble from the north.  
  
Numair was particularly excited about the prospect of new territory, new developments, new research. Daine was beginning to doubt that she'd see much of him when they finally arrived.  
  
She looked at him with a mixture of love and wry amusement. He'd launched into an enthusiastic speech about all the new reading he'd have to do.  
  
Fortunately, she knew how to stop him.  
  
Not caring who saw them right then, she reached up and pulled his head down to hers, sealing his lips with her own.  
  
Within moments, Numair had forgotten all about his work.  
  
"I wonder how advanced their mages are."  
  
Almost. 


	2. Drunken Cooks, Smirking Friends

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed. I really appreciate it. :)

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The ship gave a sudden jerk, and reared to the left. Unsuccessfully trying to stifle a groan, Daine gripped the edge of the table with both hands. Reaching out, Numair wrapped a supportive arm around her waist.  
  
"Alright, magelet?" he murmured, close to her ear.  
  
Daine shivered slightly as his warm breath stirred her hair, and gave him a tight smile.  
  
"It's brave of you to sit so close," she muttered, not entirely jesting, "I think my belly's lurching more than the ship."  
  
Numair blinked, before chuckling softly. "I'll take my chances."  
  
However, Daine didn't miss the slightly wary sideways glance he gave her. It almost cheered her up. Her lips tilted in a tiny smirk.  
  
Seated across the table from them, Thayet sent a sympathetic look Daine's way.  
  
"Sea malady is awful, isn't it? I know exactly how you feel," she said, sprightly.  
  
Daine looked at the beautiful queen, and sighed inwardly. Thayet's complexion was creamy and her eyes sparkling, as usual, and the royal looked nothing but healthy. Life wasn't fair.  
  
"Here," the exasperatingly perfect creature said, pushing a bowl of bread towards the green-tinged Wild Mage, "Have something to eat. It'll make you feel better, I promise."  
  
Daine dubiously extracted what she thought was a wheat roll, and eyed it suspiciously. Food rations were beginning to run a little low, and no one really questioned what was on their plates anymore. They figured it was better not to know. The cider barrels had been drained within two days of their departure, as well, and Daine strongly suspected that the cook's stumbling walk was due to more than the rough passage. It was at times like these that she really missed her ma's cooking. She experimentally tapped the bread against the surface in front of her, and just about chipped the wood. Better that than her teeth, she figured, and hid the roll under the table when Thayet wasn't looking.  
  
Raising her head, she saw that Numair was watching her in amusement. She was unable to stop the slightly guilty flush that rose to her cheeks, and he laughed quietly, dropping a light kiss on her lips.  
  
Alanna, the currently sickly green Lioness, cleared her throat noisily, but couldn't hold back a grin.  
  
"Alright, you two. We have business to attend here. Maybe one of you should sit on this side of the table, so you can actually concentrate."  
  
She knew it was a hopeless suggestion before the words had left her mouth.  
  
Daine and Numair's only response was to shift impossibly closer together.  
  
Alanna theatrically rolled her eyes. "Oh, forget it."  
  
"I would," Onua agreed, looking affectionately at the couple. As soon as Onua had heard about the apparently extensive stables and horse-breeding regime in the Sailan Isles, she had volunteered to join the excursion, much to Daine's delight.  
  
For someone who had once prided herself on needing no one, she felt bereft without her friends around her now. She missed Cloud's sarcastic presence already; and it felt strange to be without Kitten, who had taken one look at the rocking ship and refused to come. To everyone's amusement, care of the young dragon had fallen to George Cooper, and Daine had left the bewildered former rogue blinking bemusedly at a gleeful Kit. Alanna had crowed with laughter when she'd heard about her husband's temporary charge. Finally restraining her mirth, she'd reassured her friend that Kitten would fine, and Daine hadn't liked to tell her that she was more concerned about George.  
  
Zek had come with her, and was currently curled up on Daine's chair, apparently having decided that sleeping through the storm was the cleverest idea. Daine wished she could hibernate through the uncomfortable journey too, but more often than not, the ship's movements threw her from her bed.  
  
"Anyway," Alanna was saying now, "I just wanted to make sure that everyone is on their guard when we finally arrive in the Isles. I know we have no reason to believe that the Sailan people are hostile towards Tortall," she rushed on before Thayet could speak up diplomatically, "But we should be careful anyway."  
  
"I've been informed that the Sailan Isles are a peaceful kingdom by large, and that they will defend themselves if attacked, but are not antagonistic. However, Alanna's right," Thayet conceded. "They are an unknown entity, and we should be sensible. Be polite, be respectful, but be watchful."  
  
"Respectful," Numair nodded. He looked at Daine. "In other words, magelet, try not to destroy the palace."  
  
Alanna hid her smile behind a cough. Carthak had learned what could happen when the young mage lost her temper, and she suspected that the Sailan Isles wouldn't care to make the same discovery.  
  
Daine poked him hard in the ribs. "Dolt! Don't play dead again, and I won't have to."  
  
"Ow," Numair protested, lips twitching, rubbing his middle.  
  
Daine sniffed. "Then don't tease and I'll keep my hands to myself."  
  
"I sincerely hope not," Numair whispered wickedly in her ear, his smile widening as he saw her immediate, and furious, blush.  
  
Daine tried not to look at her friends' knowing smirks, and scrambled for a distraction.  
  
"Uh, I'm tired," she lied unconvincingly, "I think I'll go and take a quick nap."  
  
"Good idea," Numair agreed quickly, "I could do with some rest myself."  
  
"What a coincidence," Alanna said innocently.  
  
"Sea air and all that."  
  
"We're inside."  
  
"The porthole's open."  
  
"No, it isn't."  
  
"Goodbye, Alanna."  
  
Numair nodded at their friends, and hurried Daine off.  
  
Alanna, Onua and Thayet shared speaking glances.  
  
"Hopeless," they agreed at once.  
  
Later, the Lioness went looking for Numair, to ask his opinion on a healing charm she'd brought back from her last visit to Carthak. Anything to distract her from the incessant rocking of the ship.  
  
She wasn't at all surprised to find his cabin empty.  
  
Knocking loudly on Daine's door, she waited a moment, before peeking warily inside the room.  
  
The pair were fast asleep on Daine's bed, limbs entwined and bodies pressed together in a tight embrace. They looked completely content, their noses and lips almost touching.  
  
Alanna backed out quietly, and closed the door. There were some things in life just meant to be, and Daine and Numair together was one of them. The healing charm could wait.  
  
Suddenly, she missed George even more.  
  
.....................  
  
Fourteen days later, because the wind had changed direction and blown them a little off course – which Daine hoped wasn't an ominous divine warning – the Sailan Isles appeared on the horizon.  
  
The waters had calmed, to Daine's profound relief, and the sky above her was cloudless. She stood on the deck of the ship, grateful to be outside, and breathed in the clean air.  
  
Hearing footsteps behind her, she started to turn, but relaxed when Numair's arms slid around her. He bent and kissed her neck and then, unable to resist the warmth and scent of her fragrant skin, his mouth trailed along her jaw and cheek. Daine twisted her head to plant her lips on his, and kiss him enthusiastically back.  
  
Finally, Numair pulled back to take a ragged breath.  
  
"Gods, magelet," he muttered, his face slightly flushed.  
  
Daine grinned at him mischievously.  
  
"A little out of breath there, Master Salmalin?" she teased, ignoring the fact that her own chest was rising and falling rapidly.  
  
In answer, Numair swiftly captured her lips again, and kissed her until she was unable to speak.  
  
Lifting his head with a smug smile, he rested his cheek against hers, turning her into his embrace and absently stroking her back. Apparently he was unaware of what he was doing to her. Daine wondered if she'd ever be able to catch a proper breath again.  
  
Numair peered out at the ever-approaching land.  
  
"So that's Raillenden," he murmured, excitement creeping into his voice.  
  
"Uh huh," Daine said faintly, her attention more focused on Numair than the central Sailan Isle.  
  
The captain of the previous fleet to disembark on Sailan soil had reported that the Isles were made up of three separate islands: Raillenden – the central, most highly populated settlement and home of the royal family – was flanked by Zlarimorr and Aronyll. The three isles were governed together by King Benjamin and Queen Lijana, whom, Daine supposed, they would soon be meeting.  
  
Abandoning all thoughts of that pending intimidating meeting, Daine turned and reached up to similarly distract her love, but was interrupted by a blast from the ship's horn.  
  
They had reached Port Ballyntyne.


	3. Quite A Sensation

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! You guys are awesome. And it's so weird having all the people whose D/N stories I've read reading this! Oh dear. I'm a D/N TP fanfic groupie! I'm not that happy with this chapter, but I had to actually get them onto land, so hopefully the next one will go better.  
  
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Port Ballyntyne was a blur of early afternoon activity. Daine stood on the ship's deck, waiting to disembark, and watched with unashamed curiosity. Several other ships were docked nearby, the vessels rocking gently from the advancing ripples of water and the sailors moving around them. Directly beyond the piers there appeared to be a small market square, and past that a cluster of neat stone buildings. People called out to one another, and laughed, and clapped each other on the back. Daine watched as women greeted friends and acquaintances with wide smiles and enthusiastic hugs; their little ones hanging onto their breeches or trying to totter away on short, unsteady legs. Many of them carried cloth bags of vegetables and bread, and wore woven bundles around their necks. Watching one young woman gesture and bounce as she chattered to a companion, Daine was surprised but charmed by the sight of a tiny, sleeping face peeking through the folds of the front pack. An oxen-drawn cart clattered past, teetering with sacks of corn and wheat, briefly blocking her view.  
  
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"  
  
Daine turned at the sound of the voice, and found Alanna standing behind her, belongings in hand. The Lioness was gazing beyond the domesticity of Port Ballyntyne to the wild peaks and plains that seemed to stretch endlessly. Alanna rarely expressed sentimentality in public and would be more likely to become emotional over the sight of an army than a landscape, but Daine could understand why she was impressed.  
  
Tortall was beautiful – incredibly so, in parts – and every one of their company was fiercely loyal to their homeland, but Raillenden was...something else. With the amount of traveling Daine had done, it felt as if she'd been to the ends of the earth. Certainly, she'd been beyond the mortal planes, and into the Divine Realms. But she'd never seen a place quite like this. It fair took her breath away.  
  
If she didn't know better, she'd swear the Isles were the illusion of a mage. The sunlight was shimmering off the water, and winking on the hills before them, and the whole island looked like something out of a dream. Shielding her eyes against the glare, Daine peered into the distance, at the forests, and the blue waters, and the mountains lightly shrouded in mist. The day was warm, her skin gently heated, and, raising her head, she could smell salt and flowers and bread. For just a second, the noise from the port seemed to dull and all she could hear were the gentle waves lapping against the shore.  
  
Alanna shifted beside her, adjusting her pack, and Daine blinked, and shook her head. There was a dangerous allure about this land; it was almost drugging.  
  
"Daine? Are you ready?"  
  
Looking over at Alanna, Daine saw that the Lioness' brows were raised inquiringly. A wide wooden plank had been raised to the side of the ship, and its occupants were beginning to file off. She spotted Thayet on the dock, in conversation with two well-dressed Sailan people. The royal had been amongst the first to disembark, and do her diplomatic duty by greeting the Sailan officials. Warning of their impending arrival had been sent ahead several days earlier, by way of messenger bird, and they were expected at the palace.  
  
Daine joined Alanna and Onua as the women prepared to step down onto Sailan territory, and looked around for Numair. They had separated to collect their things an hour earlier, and she hadn't seen him since. She knew it was silly and cowardly, but her stomach was in knots from nerves. She almost never got scared about going to new places, and doing new things, but for some reason she felt apprehensive about this, and she wanted him with her.  
  
She peered amongst the throngs of people, but couldn't see the tall, black- haired figure whose presence she was craving, and couldn't help rolling her eyes in self-mocking. Who would have ever thought she'd feel so darn...needy about someone? Especially a male someone.  
  
Daine remembered seeing Alanna and George together, back when she'd first come to Tortall, and wondering – with curiosity and a little bit of envy – what it would be like to love someone that hard, and that much, but she'd never thought to experience it herself.  
  
She jumped down off the plank after her friends, and almost laughed. How silly to think that she could live around Numair, and travel with, and learn from Numair, and not love him.  
  
'I was fair stupid back then,' she announced in her thoughts.  
  
_'Why aren't we rocking anymore?'_ her thoughts surprised her by answering.  
  
Daine jumped slightly, and then smiled, reaching up to pet Zek. He was curled warmly around her neck, and had been jolted from a sound sleep by her movements.  
  
_'We've arrived,'_ she answered, looking around.  
  
_'This is Raillenden?'_ Zek asked, craning his neck so that Daine could scratch his chin.  
  
_'This is Raillenden.'_  
  
She followed Alanna and Onua through the crowd, towards Thayet, skirting groups of people and murmuring apologies when she accidentally bumped someone, or they bumped her.  
  
_'I don't like it. Too busy. Let's leave.'_ Zek's tone was matter-of-fact.  
  
Daine stroked his head sympathetically. _'We're going to the palace soon. It won't be so crowded there. I hope.'_

A man, laded with baskets of fish, stumbled against her, almost knocking her to the ground. He was immediately contrite, but before he could reach out to steady her, a strong arm caught Daine about the waist, and pulled her against a familiar body.  
  
"Magelet? Are you hurt?" Numair asked in concern, looking down into her lovely, flushed face.  
  
Daine shook her head 'no', and smiled at the hovering fisherman, waving away his apologies.  
  
"I'm fine. Too distracted with thoughts of you," she teased Numair, grinning wickedly.  
  
It was true, but he didn't need to know that.  
  
Numair tightened his grip on her, shielding her from the jostling mass as they walked.  
  
"I knew you'd fall for one of these Sailan swains," he jested, sighing theatrically.  
  
Daine giggled. "Very funny. No. He wasn't tall enough for me, I'm sorry."  
  
"Tall, hmm?" Numair raised his eyebrows suggestively.  
  
"Mmm. I'd miss getting a crick in my neck from kissing," she said, with airy amusement.  
  
Coming to a halt, Numair tilted his head to the side.  
  
"Even so, I can fix that," he said decisively.  
  
Before Daine could question what he meant, Numair wrapped his other arm around her, lifted her off her feet until they were eye-to-eye, and planted a loving kiss on her mouth.  
  
Two seconds later, she was back on the ground and he was towing her sedately in the direction of their Queen once more.  
  
"Oh, good, there you are," Thayet greeted them, and her companions turned in the direction of the smugly smiling mage, and befuddled looking wild mage.  
  
Alanna exchanged glances with Onua, and hid a smile. Numair was hardly able to take his eyes from Daine to acknowledge the Sailan officials, and Daine was – for once – speechless, one hand clutched in Numair's and the other unconsciously straying to her lips. She should really talk to them about their habit of kissing in public – not that it would do any good. And she didn't really mind. It was wonderful to see them both so obviously happy.  
  
Catching Alanna's eye, Daine reddened and quickly dropped her hand from her mouth.  
  
"Sir Tremain, Sir Renwald, I'd like you to meet Numair Salmalin, our black robe mage, and Veralidaine Sarrasri, our wild mage. Numair, Daine, this is Sir Tremain Balharran, the King's Champion, and Sir Renwald Verran, Captain of the Queen's Guard."  
  
A smile lurked in the Queen's words. She knew the mages well. Kissing in public again, obviously.  
  
Daine bowed her head politely, and greeted the two men, watching Numair do the same from the corner of her eye. She looked at them curiously, as Numair took her hand back in his and entwined their fingers. Sir Tremain, now in earnest conversation with Alanna, was a man of medium height but strongly muscled and squarely built. Curly brown hair was cut neatly away from a face dominated by large brown eyes and a trimmed beard. She liked him instinctively, responding to the humour and kindness in his face.  
  
Unlike Sir Tremain, whose laugh lines betrayed his sense of humour, Sir Renwald appeared to be carved of stone. He stood respectfully before the visiting queen, but did not offer any semblance of a smile. His face, below slick black hair, was curiously blank and smooth – there were no lines, or wrinkles, or anything to suggest that he ever changed expression at all. Daine guessed that the King's Champion would be around middle-thirties, but couldn't imagine how old the Captain might be. His outer appearance gave away nothing – not his age, or his character, and certainly not what he was thinking. She didn't trust him.  
  
"We have horses prepared for you, Your Majesty," he said politely - but tonelessly – to Thayet. "Our lieges' royal palace is not an hour's ride from Port Ballyntyne. Whenever you are ready to depart, we will be honoured to accompany you."  
  
"We thank you, Sir Renwald," Thayet replied. "I very much look forward to meeting King Benjamin and Queen Lijana. I believe that we are ready now?"  
  
She finished with a query, looking at Alanna for confirmation.  
  
"Everyone has disembarked, Your Majesty," Alanna nodded, addressing Thayet more formally in the presence of strangers.  
  
"Excellent," Sir Tremain said cheerfully, "Then shall we progress? The royal family is very excited about meeting you all. We're fascinated to hear more about Tortall and your neighbours. It seems unbelievable that so many kingdoms exist, and so close by, that we had no knowledge about. And we have someone who is going to be very excited to make _your_ acquaintance, Mistress Sarrasri." He unexpectedly addressed Daine, startling her.  
  
"Me?" she asked automatically, surprised. It was hardly a very courtly reply, but she hadn't been aware that anyone on the Sailan Isles would know of her existence.  
  
"Oh, yes," Sir Renwald agreed, not very pleasantly, "I'm sure you're going to create quite a sensation."  
  
Daine didn't think she liked the sound of that.


	4. Double Trouble

**Disclaimer:** Oops. Keep forgetting this. I don't own any of Tamora Pierce's amazing characters. Unfortunately. The Sailan Isles and their occupants are the product of too many mochaccinos.

**A/N:** Thank you for the reviews! I really, really appreciate them. And please excuse any wrong details in this chapter. I wasn't sure what Alanna's married name would be or if I got Onua's name right?

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_'Oooh.'  
_  
_'Oooh'_ indeed. Daine agreed whole-heartedly with Zek's awed murmur. She rested her hands in the mane of Zebara, a sprightly but even-tempered mare, leaned back and stared.  
  
As Sir Renwald had so confidently pronounced, the company had reached the monarchy's palace not one hour after their departure from Port Ballyntyne. The journey had been uneventful, the horses enjoying the familiarity of the route and passing through field, woodland, river and valley without incident. Their mounts were of various sizes and temperament, but all a beautiful pure white and proudly bedecked in Sailan's royal blue. Daine had been pleased to hear that the horses were treated well – spoiled excessively, in fact – by Raillenden's horse-mistress and groomsmen. She had also been thoroughly entertained by Zebara's constant barrage of facts about their surroundings – Goddess bless, it was like keeping company with Numair! – and glad to see Onua's obvious contentment at being able to ride again.  
  
While chatting to the talkative mare, Daine had unsuccessfully tried not to peek at her awkwardly seated love. Several times, she'd had to suppress giggles at Numair's valiant attempts to look comfortable atop the placid Bandit, prompting Zebara to demand an explanation of the joke. Zek had then joined in the conversation, one thing had led to another and consequently every horse present – and, no doubt, soon every horse in the stables – was acquainted with the name 'stork-man'. A fact that Daine might just keep to herself. She somehow didn't think Numair would be amused that the nickname had traveled the Emerald Ocean, and beyond.  
  
Amused by Zek and Zebara's banter, and enraptured by the beauty of the Raillenden landscape, it felt to Daine as if they arrived at the gates of the palace in mere moments. And now, gazing up at the vast dwelling before her, she was utterly without words. She couldn't imagine a building more imposing than the home of the Isles' royal family.  
  
_'Big,'_ Zek whispered in her ear. Clearly she wasn't the only one feeling overwhelmed.  
  
Mithros, was it ever big!  
  
Craning her neck, Daine peered upwards at golden stone walls, row upon row of windows and arrow-slots, parapets and turrets, flags and banners. Biting her lip nervously, she watched exquisitely dressed men and women walking about an immense paved courtyard, and met the gazes of heavily armed guards. For an instant, she lost the confidence that Numair's love, and her friends' support, and living amongst Tortall's court had given her, and was the same defiant and scared girl who'd first arrived at another palace.  
  
"Take away the silk and the jewels, and they're just ordinary mortals who could only wish for magic like yours," a voice murmured in her ear.  
  
Shaken from her frozen state of apprehension, Daine startled and turned to meet Numair's understanding eyes. He had drawn Bandit up to Zebara's side, and reached out to touch her thigh gently.  
  
"They should be worrying about meeting you, not the other way around," he told her.  
  
Then he grinned.  
  
"And if they knew what happened in Carthak, they definitely would be."  
  
Trepidation replaced by embarrassed vexation, Daine balled a fist and smacked him on one hard shoulder.  
  
"I wish everyone would just forget about that! I apologized, didn't I?"  
  
"That you did," Numair agreed, still smiling.  
  
"And Kaddar forgave me," Daine said slyly, glancing sideways at the mage as they followed Alanna and Onua's mounts through the great gates.  
  
As soon as the words left her mouth, Numair's amused countenance slipped into a scowl.  
  
"Of course he did," her disgruntled love said snappishly, "You could probably have obliterated his entire country, and he would want to kiss and forgive."  
  
"Uh hmm," Daine said, hiding her smile behind her hand.  
  
Numair looked over at her suspiciously.  
  
"Stop trying to provoke me!" he protested.  
  
"I will," Daine assured him airily, "It's far too easy."  
  
She received a sharp tug on one of her curls in response.  
  
Grinning at him, she replied, teasingly, but truthfully: "Besides, you know I only have eyes for you."  
  
"I should hope so too."  
  
She nodded with an exaggerated air of gravity. "After all, why would I want an Emperor when I can love the best horse-tailed mage in the whole world?"  
  
"That is true," Numair agreed, with a characteristic lack of humility.  
  
Daine giggled, and he reached for her hand, pressing an affectionate kiss into her palm.  
  
He let her go briefly, as they halted in the palace courtyard and dismounted with the rest of the riders, before firmly interlocking their fingers.  
  
Raising her chin to at least make a show of bravado, Daine tried to ignore the curious glances they were receiving.  
  
Sir Tremain dropped smoothly to the ground, and turned to smile at them.  
  
"Welcome to their majesties' palace!"  
  
Smoothing already immaculate clothing – and not looking the least travel- worn after his ride – Sir Renwald nodded at them stiffly.  
  
"If you'll follow me," he began, "I'll..."  
  
He was cut off as the enormous barricaded doors were pulled open.  
  
Daine swung around with the others to watch as guards marched out, before parting smartly to create a path for the four people that walked through the entranceway.  
  
In front were a handsome man and woman who strode forward, arm in arm, beaming smiles of welcome.  
  
A polite distance behind followed a girl of around Daine's age, with an open, pretty face and a friendly smile. She came eagerly toward them, several steps ahead of the strikingly good-looking, if rather mulish, young man who lagged unenthusiastically behind.  
  
As the curious murmur of voices in the courtyard ceased, and people at once began to bow respectfully, Daine realised that she was looking at the Sailan Isles' royal family.  
  
Thayet stepped forward smiling, and as the couple that Daine assumed were King Benjamin and Queen Lijana stopped before her, all three royals at once bowed and exchanged greetings.  
  
Daine stood back and waited with Numair, Alanna and Onua to be introduced. She assumed that the first contact between Tortall and Sailan sovereignty was going well, judging by the smiles and chuckles.  
  
Thayet turned around and motioned them forward.  
  
"Your majesties, may I present Numair Salmalin, Alanna of Trebond, Veralidaine Sarrasri and Onua Chamtong? Numair, Alanna, Daine, Onua: their Royal Highnesses, King Benjamin and Queen Lijana of Raillenden."  
  
Daine executed a near-perfect bow. Gods knew, it had taken her long enough to practise it!  
  
Straightening, she got her first close look at the rulers of the Sailan Isles, and was instantly impressed. She'd had it in the back of her head that the king and queen would be autocratic and aloof – she wasn't sure why, since Jon and Thayet were not – but the couple's sparkling eyes and up- turned lips instantly belied any such notion.  
  
King Benjamin was a tall man – almost as tall as Numair, Daine noted – with hair the colour of burnt wheat and eyes like the Dominion Jewel. Queen Lijana almost rivaled her husband in height. She was a beautiful woman with dark brown hair and kind grey eyes. If the young people hovering back were their children, the royals were probably at least in their far-thirties, but the queen's infectious and mischievous smile made her seem at least ten years younger.  
  
Gently bringing the younger two forward, Queen Lijana smilingly confirmed their identities.  
  
"Allow me to introduce our children," she said, in a surprisingly husky voice, "Our son, Braydon, and daughter, Azassandra."  
  
It was interesting, Daine decided then, how you could form impressions of people on the spot. She liked Princess Azassandra at once. Meeting the young woman's gaze, they both smiled hesitantly, the other girl cast a rueful glance towards her sulky brother and Daine liked her even more. Prince Braydon, on the other hand...It was a sad thing, she thought, that the sullen young man glaring from his father's side would one day inherit the rule of such a beautiful place.  
  
Seeing her looking at him, Braydon moved lecherous eyes up and down her body, and quirked a lascivious smile at her.  
  
Daine glared back, and was entertaining fantasies of taking wolf-form and chasing the prince round and round the courtyard of nobles, when she felt Numair firmly wrap an arm around her waist, regardless of any censorious stares.  
  
Looking up into his face, she saw that his eyes were narrowed on the younger man, lips thinned dangerously.  
  
She glanced between them, and rolled her eyes as she gathered some sort of silent, manly ritual was taking place. Numair obviously got his point across, because Braydon sneered and turned away, his unwelcome attentions on Alanna now.  
  
Daine smirked inwardly. If he tried anything there, he could wave goodbye to any ambitions of siring an heir one day.  
  
Suddenly her neck felt bare, and Daine realised with a start that Zek was gone. Spinning around, she saw that the curious marmoset had been attracted by an arrangement of unusually coloured flowers.  
  
Unfortunately, the flowers were arranged on the no doubt fashionable – although it looked fair stupid to her – head piece of an expensively dressed woman a short distance away.  
  
Wincing, Daine immediately took off after him, hoping desperately that she could catch him before they were both disgraced.  
  
Why was it that as soon as she met new people...?  
  
Crouching, she scooped Zek up before he could make a lunge for his prize, and shrugged apologetically at the startled woman.  
  
_'Bad,'_ she informed her chagrined companion.  
  
Zek peeped at her worriedly, and Daine had to laugh.  
  
_'Carthak was bad enough,'_ she told him, _'I have to make a good impression here.'_  
  
Numair appeared at her elbow, taking in the situation and shaking his head in mock-severity. However, he couldn't stop the smile that pulled at his lips.  
  
Daine looked up at him defensively.  
  
"Well, if she would wear a hat that looks like a weed patch!"  
  
And Numair gave in to his laughter.  
  
It was probably fortunate for the mages and Zek that their brief disappearance went unnoticed by all but their friends, as eyes turned toward a new arrival entering the gates.  
  
Alanna – in mid-conversation with Onua – turned to see what the commotion was about. And – in a very un-Alanna-like movement – her mouth literally dropped open.  
  
"Good gods."  
  
"What's wrong?" Onua asked, following Alanna's astonished gaze, and pausing. "Horse lords!" she breathed.  
  
The two women – and every other woman around them – watched as a man strolled casually towards them.  
  
And both women had to blink several times to make sure they were seeing correctly.  
  
He was, without any doubt whatsoever, the most beautiful man they'd ever seen.  
  
Young, probably only a couple of years older than Daine's eighteen, he was solidly-muscled and walked easily, confidently. Rays of sunlight caught in golden-blond curls and reflected from already alight green eyes. His face was strongly carved, with a square jaw and firm, full lips that looked ready to quirk into a sardonic smile at any moment.  
  
To the immense embarrassment of Alanna and Onua, they were unable to stop staring – even when Sir Tremain came to stand by them.  
  
Grinning openly as he observed their stunned expressions, the Champion shook his head. "He always creates a bit of a stir, that's for sure."  
  
Alanna dragged her eyes away with difficulty, and looked at Sir Tremain, fighting down a blush she thought she'd conquered years ago.  
  
"He?" she asked succinctly.  
  
"Jardan Treylrawne. Our wild mage."  
  
Onua's head snapped around.  
  
"What?" she asked in disbelief.  
  
Alanna's eyebrows had shot up. "Gods teeth," she murmured.  
  
Thayet came over to join them, opened her mouth to say something, and then caught sight of Jardan Treylrawne.  
  
"Son of Mithros!" she exclaimed, before looking mortified at this departure from royal dignity.  
  
"Yes," Onua agreed, looking at the handsome wild mage once more, "He could be."  
  
"Who is that?" Thayet asked, trying not to stare.  
  
"I think that," said Alanna slowly, "Is Numair's worst nightmare."


	5. Blazewings

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing that belongs to Tamora Pierce...obviously. :)  
  
**A/N:** Thank you to fuzzfurry, Numair's Angel, CrAzYhOrSeGiRl88, DarkJamAB, Simi, ArizonaBay, horseluver444, Stefen, Ceridwyn, elvenprinzcess, pauline, Elementalmoon, BloodRoseOTDemon, Whisper, Goddess of the Moon, setsuna-3000 and AnnaWeb. If I left someone out, I'm sorry!

I'm not very happy with this chapter, so if you hate it or you hate the story...well, then you hate it! :) Please excuse any wrong details. Or, if they're hideously, obviously wrong, please tell me so I don't keep doing it.

My exams start next Friday, but I'll try to write another chapter before then. They finish on the 21st June, so I probably won't be able to update very much until then. But I have three weeks holiday after that (yay!) which means I'll have time for shopping, sleep and fanfiction (I'm so addicted to reading them!).

And yes, poor Numair's going to get pretty jealous soon. I'm so mean. But don't worry, I'm pretty much obsessed with D/N as a couple, so I wouldn't break them up permanently. I have a plot kind of sorted out in my head, which is really unusual for me! Although things tend to make sense in my head, and then not when I try and write them down.

Not much fluff in this chapter. Will try to make up for it next time. :) (I'm sorry, I can't help it, I'm a fluff person!)

* * *

Catching sight of Alanna through the cluster of Sailan nobility, Daine headed toward her with Zek clutched firmly in her arms and Numair keeping close to her shoulder. As Thayet and Onua also came into view, she stopped in sheer surprise.  
  
Halting quickly to avoid walking into her, Numair frowned. "What's wrong, magelet?" he asked, trying to follow her gaze.  
  
"That's what I want to know," Daine returned, forehead creased in puzzlement. She lifted Zek gently back onto her shoulder, where he circled himself comfortably around her neck. "What's wrong with them?" She gestured toward their friends. "What are they looking at?"  
  
The three women stood several yards away with identical expressions on their faces as they watched...something. A terribly amused Sir Tremain was blocking her view of whatever could make Alanna the Lioness gape like a bemused sea otter.  
  
"I don't know," the much taller mage began, stretching to see. "Let's..."  
  
Numair's voice broke off sharply, and his eyebrows shot up.  
  
"What is it?" Daine asked curiously. "Numair?"  
  
The sound of her voice seemed to break him from a reverie and Numair looked quickly at her, but words failed him.  
  
Irritably, Daine surged forward. If there was trouble, she needed to know about it. She was a mage. She...suddenly had a very clear view of the "trouble", as the King's Champion moved aside.  
  
Legs unconsciously hesitating in their confident stride, Daine froze several steps short of the Tortallan company...and the stranger silently commanding their attention.  
  
Uncomfortably aware that her own face now mirrored the stupefaction of her friends, she nonetheless didn't seem able to do anything about it.  
  
_'Pretty,'_ said Zek blithely.  
  
'Pretty' didn't do justice to the aloof young man by King Benjamin's side. His golden-hued curls and skin, emerald eyes and cocky stance wouldn't have been out of place in the Divine Realms. Almost as tall as Numair, he stood arrogantly with legs planted firmly apart and corded brown arms folded over a muscled chest. He was handsome, beautiful, striking.  
  
However, while Daine registered those facts almost absently, they had nothing to do with her transfixed state.  
  
There was only one reason why she was unable to look away from the newcomer - a reason that was blurring the hard angles of his body with a familiar copper glow.  
  
The sheer force of the wild magic emanating from him almost pushed her back a step.  
  
His vivid gaze met hers and the connection that sparked between them was almost tangible.  
  
Daine didn't need to be told that she was looking at another Wild Mage.  
  
Had she thought about a situation like this, she might have looked forward to feeling a familial bond with someone. The competitive streak that instantly vaulted through her blood, responding to the challenging glint in those green depths, was unexpected.  
  
Raising her chin a notch, she stared coolly back, completely unaware that a heavy silence now cloaked the still courtyard and all eyes were on them.  
  
Including those of the tense dark-haired figure beside her.  
  
Thayet broke the sweltering quiet with a gentle cough, and Daine dragged her attention to the queen.  
  
"Master Treylrawne," she said - as close to being uneasy as Daine had ever heard her, "This is our Wild Mage, Veralidaine Sarrasri, and our black robe mage, Numair Salmalin. Daine, Numair...this is the Sailan Isles' Wild Mage, Jardan Treylrawne."  
  
Numair. Daine started and turned to look up at him. He gazed grimly back at her, refusing to return her apologetic smile.  
  
When Alanna nudged her gently, she remembered the court manners that had been drilled into her several years ago. Turning, she bowed her head in an unenthusiastic but polite acknowledgement of the other Wild Mage.  
  
Lips quirking satirically, Jardan reached for her hand to press a chaste salute to it, as they'd learned was the custom in the Isles.  
  
Judging by his derisive look, Daine suspected that he'd rather kiss Zek than her.  
  
As it turned out, he didn't have to kiss either of them. The instant that Jardan's hand touched hers, and their flesh made contact, a jolt of sizzling power shot through her and seemed to explode, physically lifting her from the ground and throwing her backwards.  
  
Daine landed heavily, and lay, sprawled and stunned, on the paving stones. Gasping for breath, she lifted her head and saw - with subliminal satisfaction - Jardan struggling to a sitting position, briefly looking as taken aback as she, before astonishment was replaced by urbane calm.  
  
There was a moment of shocked immobility, and then everyone and everything around her seemed to move at once.  
  
Numair was on his knees beside her in a second, his large hands pulling her to a sitting position and stroking over her urgently, checking for damage.  
  
"Sweet? Where does it hurt?"  
  
"I'm fine," she tried to reassure him, but, still winded, was unable to speak. Reaching out, she squeezed his hand instead. He rubbed her fingers, and met her gaze, worry evident in his eyes. And, she noted - with what little amusement she could muster, having had the air knocked from her - a hint of intellectual curiosity.  
  
Daine shared that curiosity. Nothing quite like that had ever happened to her before. Her body was still humming slightly from the sudden burst of power, but her head was clear and she wasn't in pain.  
  
"Daine?" Alanna was hovering in concern, obviously prepared to use her healing Gift if necessary.  
  
"I'm fine." She managed to force the words out this time.  
  
Daine suddenly realised that Jardan was on his feet again, looking irritatingly unscathed, and she was still lolling on the ground - in front of two sets of royalty and an entire court of nobles.  
  
"Odds bobs!" she muttered crossly. And then: "What in the name of the name of Mithros was that!"  
  
She wasn't sure who she was talking to, but it was Numair that answered, rising and tugging her up gently.  
  
"I've never seen anything like that before," he said, circumspection in his face as he glanced from his love to the impassive Jardan. "But apparently your magic objects to proximity."  
  
Alanna, listening to this, hid a smile. Numair had made an admirable job of trying not to sound smug over that fact.  
  
The black robe mage shrugged. "If you both possess roughly equal wild magic..."  
  
Jardan's face lost its detached blankness, and he looked skeptical, raising doubtful brows at Daine's slight figure. She planted her hands on her hips and glared back, opening her mouth to argue.  
  
Numair continued, in a louder tone: "...then together, your collective power is probably immense." He brightened slightly. "I wonder if there're any writings on it..."  
  
Alanna shook her head in mock-despair. "Best not to let him near your books, Your Majesty," she said to King Benjamin, "We'd probably never see him again."  
  
Numair glared at her but a reluctant smile tugged his lips in acknowledgment, and the King grinned, nodding.  
  
"Oh yes. I've had great experience in trying to wrestle mages away from their studies."  
  
"Raillenden's Elder, Daionarus, most oft has a book covering half his face," Queen Lijana agreed good-naturedly, "Why, once he..." She paused, interrupting herself. "Oh my, I'm sorry. Here I am going on as if you've been here forever instead of a few minutes! It feels like we know you all so well already and..."  
  
"You're babbling, love," the King told his wife, his grin widening.  
  
She pushed him gently, chidingly, and explained: "The Elders are Isorus of Zlarimorr, Daionarus of Raillenden and Lemerus of Aronyll. They're our most powerful mages, and act as instructors, mentors and advisors wherever they're needed. We heard much about all of you from the first Tortallan fleet, and the Elders are extremely interested to talk to you in particular, Master Salmalin. We sent word to Isorus and Lemerus when we received your messenger bird. They should be here in the next couple of days. Daionarus is currently on Zlarimorr also."  
  
Numair nodded, absently stroking Daine's arm. "I look forward to speaking with them, Your Majesties."  
  
"Perhaps the Elders will be able to offer an opinion on the strange...force between Mistress Sarrasri and myself," Jardan said neutrally, eying him. "Since you are unable to explain it, Master Salmalin."  
  
Daine felt Numair stiffen slightly, and silently groaned. Casting aspersions on the mage's intellect and powers was the best way to ruffle his feathers. Well. That, or poking fun at his hair.  
  
"You have no opinion yourself, Master Treylrawne?" Numair questioned coolly.  
  
Jardan shrugged carelessly.  
  
"We don't even know if it will happen every time I touch her, do we?"  
  
Daine narrowed her eyes slightly, not liking the way that sounded.  
  
"Shall we find out?"  
  
Before anyone could react, Jardan reached out and clasped her left hand in his.  
  
Darts of sensation ran up Daine's wrist, and her hand tingled curiously, but both mages remained on their feet.  
  
"Interesting," he commented lightly, before turning her fingers to examine them. "Nice ring."  
  
He glanced at it, and then at her, before turning to Numair.  
  
"You have good taste."  
  
Numair placed a possessive hand on Daine's waist, and nodded unsmilingly.  
  
"I know."  
  
Daine met Alanna's gaze and both women rolled their eyes.  
  
Jardan turned his attention to her.  
  
"Well," he said, cocking a brow, "Daine."  
  
"Well. Jardan."  
  
The other mage broke into a smile suddenly, revealing even white teeth. "You know, we have a species of shark called Daines."  
  
"Really."  
  
"Hmm. Breed around the northern bays of Zlarimorr. Feisty creatures. Lots of teeth and temper. Man-eating, actually."  
  
"And?"  
  
The frosty monosyllable caused Jardan's smile to widen.  
  
"Just making conversation."  
  
Daine - beyond caring that there was royalty observing the interaction with amusement - began to reply, before her attention was caught by the dark shadows emerging on the horizon.  
  
"What's that?" she asked, pointing.  
  
From the moment the words left her mouth, it was as if the world began to move faster. Heads turned to follow the direction of her finger and there was a deathly, eerie silence, before a noblewoman began to scream. It was a terrible, shrill, foreboding sound that made Daine want to clap her hands over her ears. Or slap the woman. The courtyard blurred into action as people either drew their weapons or ran shrieking for cover.  
  
"What is it?" Alanna yelled over the noise, sword already brandished.  
  
King Benjamin, face set, reached for his own sword. In an instant, he had been transformed from friendly, easy-going ruler to fierce warrior.  
  
"Get inside the palace!" he roared at a group of hapless, hysterical maidservants. They scurried to follow his order, bumping into one another in their panic and adding to the growing chaos.  
  
Jardan unsheathed a bronze sword with a metallic screech. He was pale, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his face. Cocky arrogance was now experienced resignation. He looked from the ever-approaching shapes to the confused Tortallan faces.  
  
"You have Stormwings in Tortall, yes?" he queried roughly.  
  
Thayet, already in battle stance, nodded.  
  
"Yes. But those...aren't Stormwings," she stated, her gaze focused on the sky.  
  
"No," Jardan agreed heavily, "They aren't. Get ready for your first encounter with Blazewings."  
  
Daine, bow in hand, reached for an arrow from her quiver. Her movements were tight and methodical; she was already in the mental state of war.  
  
"Blazewings?"  
  
She was still looking up, and as the first of the winged creatures came free of the sun's cover, she couldn't bite back a gasp.  
  
With a feathered wing span of several yards, the beasts were enormous and terrifying in appearance. Their bodies were mottled red and black, sinewy and shining with blood. Unlike the Stormwings, their faces were animalistic and contorted with pain and hatred. Daine couldn't even say what animal they resembled, but the sight was...horrific.  
  
They were close to the palace now - and then the noise began. A cacophony of pain and terror and death, it cut right through her, filling her ears and seeming to clog her nose and throat. Daine screamed aloud as agony exploded in her head, and ripped through her body. Her fingers loosened around her bow and she dropped it, clawing at her face and hair, just wanting the sound to stop.  
  
Through the haze of wailing - both from the Blazewings and herself - Daine heard a voice, and wrenched her eyes open.  
  
As if seen through a fog, Jardan's tortured face floated into her line of vision.  
  
Straining, she made out his harsh, ironic words.  
  
"Welcome to the Sailan Isles."


	6. The Voice Within

**Disclaimer:** Daine, Numair and the rest of Tamora Pierce's awesome characters and places do not belong to me. If they did, my head would be too big to fit through doors!

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed last time. :) Thanks to Darking Queen for pointing out the mistake with the colour of wild magic. Oops. And I'm sure that I knew that too...Oh, well. It's fixed now, and I'll just pretend that Daine (and me) had temporary colour-blindness or something!

* * *

Daine stumbled back a few paces, one hand pressed futilely to her ear in an effort to shut out the Gods-awful sound, and the other scrabbling for her bow. The hideous symphony of animal cries – pained, dying animals – thundered inside her head and almost brought her to her knees.  
  
There was that voice again, yelling. Wrenching her head up, Daine forced her shaking fingers around the bow, raising it to the sky.  
  
"Daine! Close them out! Just like the voices of the People! _Close them out!_"  
  
She tried. Closing her eyes, she tried to force the voices out – and sobbed aloud as her body buckled under new waves of pain.  
  
"Focus! _You have to push them away!_"  
  
The voice came again, adding to the agonizing chaos. She wished she could scream at it to be quiet, but her mouth refused to open. Her muscles had seized and she felt herself start to fall. Before she could hit the ground, black tendrils encircled Daine's wrists and upper arms, hauling her back to her feet. She stared at them in foggy confusion. _'Numair,'_ she realised through the mists of torment. She wanted to look for him, touch him, but could see nothing but the encroaching darkness.  
  
Strong hands grabbed her, pulling her backward. Daine swung around almost sleepily, struggling feebly against the unrelenting grip. The mysterious fingers moved to her hair, cupping her head fiercely. A small squeak emerged in pitiful protest - objection that soon turned to gasps of relief.  
  
Daine's body physically swayed as she felt the strains of wild magic curling inside her skull. Familiar in some ways, but foreign as well – magic then, but not her own. The screams were quieter now, reluctantly receding, driven out by a greater power. Silence – blissful nothingness – reigned in her mind for a single moment, and then more familiar, but equally terrifying, noises took hold.  
  
Eyes flying open, her thoughts lucid once more, Daine steadied her trembling legs and looked around in horror. The peaceful courtyard had become a battlefield. She heard the clang of metal as swords swiped at feathered limbs and swooping claws. Human grunts and groans filled the air as the now eerily silent Blazewings dove for their prey, slicing through armour and muscle with razor-edged talons. The tangy smell of freshly- spilled blood lingered on the breeze.  
  
It was like waking from one nightmare into another. Daine searched the scene frantically for her friends, automatically pulling a new arrow from her quiver. There was Alanna, valiantly fighting side-by-side with Thayet. She couldn't see Onua, but could hear her furious war-cries. Numair...where was Numair?  
  
She heard a whistle – the sound of feathers in the wind – and snapped around just in time to see a fire-eyed Blazewing explode in a shower of sparks and blood. Red and black fluid splattered on Daine's face and shoulders, and she reminded herself to be disgusted about that later. Right now...her gaze cut through the frenzied thrashing of limbs and weapons, and fixed on Numair. Her relief almost overwhelmed her as she saw the mage looking cross, but unharmed. His black Gift was threading through his long fingers, and Daine watched as another Blazewing was given the same treatment as its cohort. She guessed that he'd been keeping them away from her, and felt gratitude mingle with shame at her hindrance during the fighting.  
  
While he was momentarily preoccupied, the creature deftly avoiding Alanna's sword spiraled toward the back of Numair's head. Acting on pure reflex, Daine drew her bow and sent an arrow tunneling directly between two molten eyes. The Blazewing jerked back and crashed to the ground, narrowly missing a dagger-wielding Princess Azassandra. Numair glanced from the fallen carcass to Daine, smiling in relief to see her firmly upright. He flashed a thankful look at her, and neatly dodged an arcing talon. Daine took aim and let another arrow fly, striking the new Blazewing in the neck. Close by, sunlight – seeming so serene and out of place now – glinted off bronze as Jardan's sword swiftly beheaded his own assailant.  
  
"Try to avoid being cut by their feathers!" he roared at the Tortallans. "And whatever you do, _do not let them bite you!_"  
  
Bite? Daine peered more closely at the few Blazewings left and saw that, sure enough, each creature sported an impressive set of dense fangs. She ducked a vicious snap of teeth as a blur of blistering feathers whirred past her ear, only to be cut short by the swing of Alanna's sword. A Blazewing lurched drunkenly in the sky, mired by strangling ropes of black fire. The royals were making short work of the rest of the pack and, as the Princess' matching daggers brought down a particularly stalwart beast, the Blazewings were finally overcome.  
  
There was a thud as the last of their enemies hit the paving, and then all that could be heard was the gentle clang of swords lowered to the ground and the rasp of panting breaths. Looking around, unable to keep her legs from quivering, Daine saw that all of the humans were covered in an unpleasant mix of blood and black bile from the Blazewings. Faces and bodies were a mess of torn armour and flesh, bruises and cracked bones, but everyone was still on their feet – just.  
  
Something soft brushed against Daine's leg, making her jump. She looked down into Zek's anxious eyes, and immediately scooped him up in relief.  
  
_'Are you hurt?'_ she asked, worried.  
  
The marmoset shook his head. _'Not hurt. Flowers fell off lady's head. Hid in them. Worried about you.'_  
  
In the midst of all the death and suffering, Daine managed to find a smile.  
  
_'I'm fine,'_ she reassured him, stroking his back.  
  
Suddenly, King Benjamin broke the silence.  
  
"Well," he said, looking ruefully around the bedraggled company. "That's _not_ quite how we wanted to welcome you to Raillenden."  
  
Thayet laughed tiredly. "I'm sure we all feel right at home now, actually. Although I can't say we've ever had an attack quite like that one."  
  
"No," the king said, rather heavily. "The Blazewings are our particular joy alone."  
  
During the interim silence that followed, Numair – rather grey from fatigue – came to Daine's side and pulled her wordlessly into his arms. She bunched her fingers in his robes and clung, oblivious to watching eyes. Rubbing her nose against his chest, she could feel his rapid breathing and the slight tremble of muscles. Pulling back to look into his face, she raised a hand to his chin in concern.  
  
"Are you alright?" they asked in unison, before smiling wearily.  
  
"I'm fine," Daine told him, then frowned slightly. "Thanks to you."  
  
Numair shook his head. "Don't start feeling guilty that you weren't able to fight back right away. You were hardly able to move, you seemed to be in so much pain! Does it still hurt? What happened?"  
  
His eyes were still full of fear – for her, she realised.  
  
"No." Daine shook her head, "I don't know what happened. It was only me then? That heard it?"  
  
"It?" Numair asked, looking sharply at her.  
  
"Screaming, pain...dying," Daine murmured almost incoherently, not wanting to remember.  
  
"Jardan Treylrawne was affected too. At first." Numair spoke the words slowly, watching her carefully. "He seemed to recover and then, when you started to fall, he went to help. I tried to get to you, but I couldn't."  
  
The guilt was clear in his voice, and Daine stroked her hand comfortingly over his chest.  
  
"You did help. I would have taken a nosedive into the paving stones if it weren't for you. Right before I was eaten by a Blazewing."  
  
"Yes, the teeth..." Numair mused, absently winding a brown curl around his finger. "I've never seen anything like the Blazewings before."  
  
"And pray you never have to again."  
  
Daine and Numair both turned towards the cool voice. Jardan met their gazes impassively, wiping his sword clean and re-sheathing it.  
  
"You lent me your magic," Daine said slowly.  
  
Jardan shrugged.  
  
"You've never had to come up against Blazewings before. You weren't prepared."  
  
There was no censure or mocking in his matter-of-fact tone.  
  
"Thank you," Daine said quietly.  
  
He nodded, meeting her gaze evenly.  
  
"If there _is_ a next time, I'll make sure you can defend yourself."  
  
"The...noises," she began. "What..."  
  
"They can be blocked out," Jardan interrupted, "With effort."  
  
"We're the only ones who heard them."  
  
It wasn't a question.  
  
Jardan considered her thoughtfully.  
  
"We're the only Wild Mages here, so far as I know."  
  
"The Blazewings are an air-borne menace," King Benjamin spoke up.  
  
Daine jumped; she hadn't noticed that they'd been joined by the others.  
  
"They have their similarities to the Stormwings," the king continued. He paused before adding: "They are also very different. The Blazewings are not immortals. They're mage-made...mage-cursed."  
  
"Created by a mage?" Numair spoke up sharply. "But..."  
  
"Stormwings feed on the bitter impulses of men – they thrive on the spoils of humankind's worst instincts." A new voice – deep and melodious – spoke up. "Blazewings...they turn man into his own worst enemy."  
  
All heads turned toward the figure walking slowly into the courtyard. Standing tall and upright, clad in brown robes, the man's very bearing commanded respect.  
  
That he received. Daine was slightly startled as once again the battle-worn people gathered around their king began to bow. She wondered if the stranger was royalty also.  
  
"Daionarus," King Benjamin said, smiling in startled welcome. "You are back, my friend. We had not expected you for some days yet."  
  
Daionarus – one of the Elders, Daine remembered. The Great Mage of Raillenden.  
  
"I completed my business earlier than anticipated," the mage replied, "Although not in time to be of assistance, I see."  
  
Beside her, Alanna eyed the bobbing Sailan people. She turned to Onua. "I bet you five gold nobles that Numair wants us to start bowing to him."  
  
Both women coughed back snickers.  
  
Daine watched as Daionarus approached – a majestic man with silver-flecked dark hair, he was probably a few years older than the king. There were deep grooves running from nose to mouth, and, most noticeable of all, brown strips encircling his head and covering his eyes.  
  
She frowned.  
  
"Is something wrong?" whispered a voice in her ear.  
  
Turning, she saw Princess Azassandra's friendly, quizzical face.  
  
"That's Daionarus? Your Elder?" Daine asked hesitantly.  
  
"Yes, that's Daionarus."  
  
"But...your mother said that he's always reading, like Numair. And...well..." She searched for a way to say it without sounding rude. Giving up, she asked: "Isn't he blind?"  
  
Azassandra smiled. "Oh, yes, he is. He was blinded in a spidren attack when he was around our age. It's terribly sad. But it's true that he rarely has a book away from his face."  
  
Daine blinked, and noticed the thick volume that the mage clutched as they spoke.  
  
"But..."  
  
"He's charmed the books to read aloud to him, you see," Azassandra explained. "He's not very popular in the libraries."  
  
Daine smiled. "I hope he doesn't teach Numair that spell," she said, shaking her head. "It would drive me mad."  
  
"You're marrying Master Salmalin?" the princess questioned, her eyes going to where the mage was being introduced to Daionarus.  
  
Looking at her a shade warily, Daine nodded, unable to keep her grin from widening. She didn't know if the young royal would comment on their age difference, but it wouldn't bother her overly much even if she did. She loved Numair, and she knew that he loved her. That was enough. She didn't need other people's approval.  
  
Azassandra nodded, almost wistfully, Daine thought. "I'm glad. You look right together."  
  
Of course, it was still nice when people _did _approve.  
  
"I think so," she agreed, meeting Numair's gaze as he paused in his conversation with Daionarus.  
  
His eyes immediately softened and he slanted a smile at her, which she affectionately returned.  
  
The moment was rudely broken by the less than dulcet tones of Prince Braydon.  
  
"The rooms for our guests are ready, Mother," he drawled, not sounding as if he cared in the least.  
  
Daine's eyes narrowed slightly as they fell on the handsome, sulky prince. Sir Renwald stood at his side, and the two of them looked suspiciously...clean.  
  
"Thank you, Braydon," Queen Lijana said calmly. Turning to the guests, she beamed in companionable apology. "If you'll follow me inside, I'll send for the healers – now that you've fought a battle with us, but haven't even set foot in the palace yet!"  
  
Daine sat down on the plush bed with a grateful sigh, and glanced around her opulent room. She had escaped the Blazewing attack relatively unscathed, thanks to Numair and Jardan – a fact that she was still slightly ashamed of, but she couldn't be sorry that she wasn't still under the care of the palace healers.  
  
A gentle knock sounded on her door, and she hauled herself to tired feet reluctantly. Pulling the door open, she looked up into a familiar face, and immediately felt a fresh wave of energy and happiness.  
  
"Numair," she said, automatically reaching for him. She frowned when he evaded her hands and stepped back. He'd changed into a simple shirt and breeches, and seemed tense.  
  
"May I come in?" he said quietly, looking at her seriously.  
  
"What's wrong?" Daine stepped back immediately to allow him entry.  
  
He didn't answer her question, but walked past her into the room. There, he hesitated and looked uncomfortably at his hands, the window, the bed – anywhere but at her, it seemed.  
  
"Numair?" she questioned again, more forcefully this time. "What is it? Was someone hurt worse than we thought? Is..."  
  
He shook his head at once. "No. Everyone's healing fine. It isn't that."  
  
"Then what is it?" she asked impatiently.  
  
Finally, he drew in a deep breath and met her gaze.  
  
"Jardan Treylrawne."  
  
Daine stared at him in puzzlement. "Jardan? What about him?"  
  
Numair shook his head again.  
  
"Nothing. Just...I don't know...he's a Wild Mage."  
  
"Yes. I know...Numair, what's going on? Are you worried that I'll feel threatened? Because I won't. Well, perhaps I will, I don't know, but it won't..."  
  
"No, I'm not worried about that," Numair interrupted. He smiled at her ruefully. "You can hold your own anywhere."  
  
"Then what? I would have thought you'd be excited about having another source of Wild Magic to learn fr..."  
  
"He's very good-looking."  
  
The words were blunt, and accompanied by a searching look.  
  
"I guess so," Daine agreed warily. Then her expression changed. "Oh gods, Numair, you don't actually think that I'd..." Her voice trailed off in indignation.  
  
Numair looked at her once more; then ran a hand over his hair, sighing deeply.  
  
"I'm being a dolt, aren't I?" he said, reading her mind.  
  
"Yes," she told him flatly. She smacked him on the arm crossly. "Numair, you know that I love you! I've told you often enough, haven't I? I don't want anyone but you. There could be a thousand handsome Wild Mages and I still wouldn't..."  
  
Her words were swallowed up in his mouth as he kissed her. Deciding to forgive him for now and finish her speech later, Daine enthusiastically kissed him back, throwing her arms around his neck. One of Numair's hands rose to delve greedily into her curly hair; while the other soothingly stroked her ribcage and belly, sliding around her hip.  
  
Her hands slipped unconsciously under his shirt, seeking the warmth of his skin, and she tugged at the fabric bossily. Laughing softly against her mouth, he obliged her by pulling it off and then set to work on hers, tormenting her with little biting kisses. Hands at her waist, Numair backed her up and gently tipped her onto the bed, following her down.  
  
"I love you," he murmured in her ear, pressing his lips to the hollow of her throat.  
  
Daine cupped his head in her hands. "Love you more," she argued.  
  
He shook his head against her neck, his words muffled. "Not possible."  
  
The voice that suddenly echoed through her head was unwelcome, unexpected and horrifyingly familiar.  
  
_'Excuse me while I choke to death on all the sentiment.'_  
  
"Jardan?!"  
  
Numair's hands and the warmth of his body abruptly left her.  
  
_"What?!"_  
  
Daine sat up fast at his outraged exclamation, tugging ineffectually at her breastband, and met his disbelieving eyes.  
  
She opened her mouth, but was unable to say a word. Gods, she must be crazed with lust and exhaustion. For a moment, she actually thought she'd heard Jardan Treylrawne's voice in her head.  
  
_'You did.'  
_  
She froze.  
  
_'Well,'_ said Jardan's disembodied voice flatly, _'This is new.'_  
  
Daine looked at Numair's shocked, angry expression; tried to assimilate the fact that Jardan was inside her head; and said the only appropriate thing under the circumstances.  
  
"Mithros, Minos, and Shakith!" 


	7. A Little Unsettling

**Disclaimer:** Anything that you think is Tamora Pierce's almost definitely is.  
  
**A/N:** Again, thank you for all the reviews! You guys are awesome. SportzGurl: yeah, I remembered Christina Aguilera's song, and I just couldn't resist! :) And Darking Queen, I've never been called a creative genius before, and I probably never will be again, so thank you. Hardly, but thanks for saying it! :) One exam down, two to go, so I'll update again after the 21st. I'm making up a lot of stuff as I go, but if anyone thinks any details are horribly off, please let me know.

* * *

"I can't get Jardan out of my head!"  
  
Daine burst into Alanna's room, forgetting to knock in her agitation. Her outraged exclamation was directed towards the Lioness' swaying posterior, as her friend was currently sprawled on the wooden beams, stowing spare armour under her mattress. Startled, Alanna's head snapped up and thudded against the bed frame. A muffled curse reached Daine's ears, but she was too preoccupied to worry overly much about the Champion's formidable temper. Backing up on her knees, one hand clutched in copper hair, Alanna squinted up at Daine with a mixture of pained irritation and alarm.  
  
"Daine, that's..." Her gaze drifted past the bothered wild mage and settled on the tense figure in the doorway. "Daine!" she hissed, "Numair's _right behind you!_"  
  
Daine didn't bother to turn around; even if she hadn't just frog-marched him through the palace corridors, she was always alerted to the mage's proximity by a gentle stirring of her skin. Numair felt it too, when she was near, and was constantly frustrated by his inability to find an intellectual explanation. She accepted it as natural, and barely noticed the prickling awareness most of the time.  
  
"I know that," she said impatiently, dismissively. "Alanna, why can I hear Jardan's voice? This has never happened before, not with a human."  
  
A frown flickered over Alanna's face, and she stared at Daine. "Oh! Oh, you mean...he's in your head. His voice is in your head."  
  
Daine stared back, slightly confused. "Yes...that's what I said."  
  
Alanna shook her head. "I know...never mind. You can mind-speak with Jardan? Right now, if you wanted to?"  
  
"_'Want'_ has nothing to do with it," Daine said wryly, "I don't _want_ to speak to him. He's just suddenly...there."  
  
Numair remained ominously quiet, and Alanna rose slowly from the floor. Folding her arms, she tilted her head, trying to understand. "It's like your connection with the People then?"  
  
"Partly. Except that I _enjoy_ talking to animals for the most part."  
  
_'That hurts. Really, it does.'_  
  
Ignoring Jardan's mocking words, Daine turned to Numair. He stood stiffly, looking directly ahead and, judging by the scowl tugging at his face, was lost in rather unpleasant thoughts. Reaching up, she gently pulled at his shirt. His unreadable gaze swung down to her, and he raised a sardonic eyebrow but remained silent.  
  
"Please don't be upset," she said urgently, fingers entwining in the crisp material.  
  
_'Why should he be upset? I'm the one who had to listen to - '  
  
'Would you stop eavesdropping! I'm trying to tell Numair something.'  
  
'How about "Get a haircut"?'  
  
'I'm ignoring you now.'_  
  
Daine moved her hands to Numair's waist, holding him loosely in place. She could feel the tension in the mage's long frame, and feared that he might pull away from her. Their closeness of just a few minutes before had evaporated, and he looked distant and angry.  
  
"I'm not upset," Numair said finally, covering her hands with his. Paying no attention to her fervent resistance, he pulled them away from his body – before hesitating and lightly entwining their fingers. "I'm just...surprised. You've never had such a..." he gritted his teeth noticeably, "..._bond_ with someone with wild magic before, have you?"  
  
It was more of a statement than a question; he knew she would have told him if she had.  
  
"No," Daine said decisively. She'd never experienced anything like this sudden link with Jardan. The feelings she had for Numair tied them irrevocably, both emotionally and physically. The connection with Jardan, she couldn't even begin to describe. She couldn't honestly say that she liked him, yet she trusted him. She did trust him, and that was unusual in itself. She was always wary of strangers, and instinctively suspicious of their motives. But Jardan...she didn't sense danger or disloyalty in him - and she could feel his very presence. She half-expected to look over her shoulder and find him there.  
  
Unconsciously turning her head at that thought, Daine jumped in shock. She blinked and stared in dumb surprise at the two men standing in the doorway. The subject of her thoughts ran a hand through golden curls and gazed back calmly, a hint of a smile playing around his mouth at her rare loss of speech. At his side, the Elder, Daionarus, waited patiently, one hand grasping a carved emerald cane. This was the first time that Daine had seen him up close and she searched his face curiously. Harshly sculpted and etched with lines, he looked formidable, but his smile now was charming.  
  
"Forgive us for intruding," he began, in those same melodic tones. Deep yet gentle, his voice reminded Daine of Sarra's lullabies in the more carefree days of her childhood. It was soothing, reassuring. "I understand that you are a little...unsettled by new developments, Mistress Sarrasri?"  
  
"A little unsettled," Daine repeated, finding her own voice at last. "Sire, I'm used to hearing things in my head, believe me," she stated bluntly, "But having a veritable stranger practically reading my thoughts is a little more _unsettling _than discussing mice with housecats or wind patterns with sparrowhawks! I'm not sure how it's possible that I'm able to mind- speak with a human, but I don't like it and I want it to stop."  
  
Alanna's hand crept up to cover her face as Daine grew more forceful and less respectful with each passing word.  
  
"I mean...it's an invasion of privacy!" Daine snapped, completely forgetting who she was talking to – her anger, a little unfairly, focused on a highly amused Jardan. "And it interrupted me at a really inappr..."  
  
She stopped abruptly, violent red rushing to her cheeks and matching the blush creeping into Numair's own face.  
  
Jardan coughed once, and then again, louder, rubbing his mouth hard and obviously trying to hold back a smile.  
  
_'Nice.'  
  
'Oh, hush it!'_  
  
Alanna's eyes were wide, the Lioness seemingly torn between humour and disapproval. She compromised by grinning slightly, while directing a chastising look toward Numair. Still vividly coloured, he shrugged, looking a little affronted to be the sole recipient of blame.  
  
"Yes. Well." Daionarus, openly smiling, cleared his throat. "I realise that it was probably a great shock to you. However, I can assure you that it will not be the serious problem you no doubt envisage. If you concentrate, focus your power, you will soon find it very simple to close Jardan's voice out. Essentially, it is little different from your connection with animals."  
  
"I did try," Daine said, politely now, but still a mite touchily. "It didn't work."  
  
"That isn't unexpected," Daionarus nodded. "With your emotions upset, it's unlikely you would be able to obtain enough focus. Try again."  
  
The command was softly spoken, but firm.  
  
Daine eyed him briefly, then took a deep breath and closed her eyes. External sounds from her surroundings muted as she concentrated on her mind and magic, as Numair had taught her. Enveloped in the copper power, she frowned suddenly. She could sense a foreign body...a force that was familiar only in colour. Her eyes flew open, and she looked into Jardan's inscrutable face.  
  
"Your magic...I still have it," she said slowly, "There're still strands of it with mine."  
  
Jardan nodded, folding his arms and leaning back against the wall.  
  
"If two people have substantial enough wild magic and make contact, they become indelibly bonded," he told her, watching as uneasiness fleetingly touched her face.  
  
Numair shifted beside her, and Daine tightened her grip on his hand but didn't break eye contact with Jardan.  
  
"So that's why I can mind-speak with you?" she questioned, "I wouldn't be able to with anyone else? With others who have lesser amounts of wild magic?"  
  
He shook his head. "No."  
  
Daionarus spoke up. "It doesn't diminish your own powers in any way. If anything, it will make you stronger. And, while you'll be able to converse with Jardan if you wish to, you should be able to close his voice out." He broke into a fully-fledged grin. "A blessing that the rest of us can only wish for."  
  
Jardan rolled his eyes, but a tiny smile lessened the severity of his expression.  
  
The Elder continued: "When Jardan speaks to you, Mistress Sarrasri, try to lock him from your mind, as you would do with your animals."  
  
Averting her gaze in order to concentrate better, Daine focused on pushing away the alien magic and clearing her mind. Breathing deeply, she looked up when silence ensued.  
  
"Did you say something?" she asked the other wild mage.  
  
He nodded, then laughed suddenly. "As you would seem to be taking my calling you a 'pretentious brat with more temper than ability' _awfully _well, I assume you were able to shut me out."  
  
The room momentarily went dangerously still.  
  
Then: "_Preten...you..._" Daine fumed disjointedly.  
  
Alanna tactfully interrupted before the Sailans could receive a full display of that temper. "Master Daionarus, I've been intending to ask you about the Blazewings." The words came out in a rush, while she kept one eye on Daine's outraged countenance.  
  
Without warning, Jardan's grin disappeared and his body jerked in reaction. Not looking at any of them, he announced abruptly: "Please excuse me while you talk. I have...some important business to attend to." Nodding shortly, he turned on his heel and quickly exited the room.  
  
Alanna blinked. "Did...I say something wrong?"  
  
Daionarus uttered a rather forced laugh. "No, no. Jardan...is a very busy man, that's all. I apologize if his departure seemed impolite."  
  
Daine frowned. There was an undercurrent of tension in the palace that discomforted one moment, and the next was covered with an air of jocularity. It gave her an uneasy feeling, and she didn't like it.  
  
Daionarus was speaking again, slowly, almost reluctantly. "It is very unfortunate that you should be caught up in a Blazewing attack at all, let alone right on your arrival. I'm sure that the King and Queen would never have invited you here had they thought there was a significant threat to your safety. You see, we haven't had a Blazewing attack in...four, yes, four years now."  
  
"Four years?" Alanna repeated, startled.  
  
"Yes. I'm afraid our guard was down. We were almost beginning to believe that...well. It was foolish. The Blazewings are a continuing menace, and we ought to be prepared at all times."  
  
"I've never seen anything like them before," Numair spoke up, his hand in Daine's still taut. "They are mage-made, you said?"  
  
Daionarus nodded. "A fact that I am thoroughly ashamed of, being a mage myself. The Blazewings...are a curse. A plague."  
  
"Animals," Daine said softly, almost incoherently, remembering the creatures' bestial faces.  
  
The Elder paused, then agreed: "Yes. We believe that they are created from the flesh and fear of prey - animals that have been hunted and slaughtered by their own kind. The Blazewings embody their terror and rage...their pain."  
  
Snatches of those terrible cries entered Daine's consciousness and she shuddered, futilely shaking her head.  
  
"All living things have an innate selfishness, a competitive drive," Raillenden's mage continued, "And that hunger and lust for personal gain can spawn indiscriminant urges to destroy. To remove any and all obstacles in the way." He took a deep breath, his face almost frightening in its intensity. "If there is another attack, which I pray to the Gods you are spared, try to avoid being bitten at all costs. If you value your humanity, fear their venom. Others...have learned the cost of carelessness."  
  
"Their venom?" Numair queried harshly, "It...infects?"  
  
Daionarus' laugh was bitter. "Oh yes. It infects, it overwhelms, If a human is bitten by a Blazewing, the poison will kill eventually, but by the end they'll be begging for death."  
  
He broke off suddenly, as if registering their silent horror. He put his head back, and tightened his grip on the sturdy cane.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said, smiling grimly, "You haven't even slept a night on Sailan soil and you've already fought a battle. You don't need me acting as the voice of doom."  
  
"But - " Alanna began, her own voice slightly high-pitched with...impatience? Fear? Daine wasn't sure.  
  
"Another time," Daionarus said firmly. "You must all be exhausted. I believe there's a light supper available in the north banquet room, if you're hungry."  
  
This sudden return to normality after the harsh words and heavy apprehension of before seemed surreal.  
  
Daine started to shake her head, but Numair put a hand on her arm. "You should go downstairs, Daine, you've hardly had anything to eat all day."  
  
She frowned up at him, wondering if his suggestion was motivated solely by concern for her welfare, or if he was trying to get rid of her. She knew that the tension between them wasn't resolved.  
  
His expression eased slightly and he managed a small smile, raising a hand to touch her cheek. "Go on, sweet," he murmured close to her ear. Raising his head, he spoke louder: "Besides, if you have the time, Master Daionarus, I'd like to extend this discussion a little. Perhaps in your study?"  
  
"Right now?" the other mage questioned.  
  
"If you have the time," Numair repeated.  
  
"Of course. I am very interested to speak with you also. If you'll follow me? Mistress Sarrasri, Sir...Lady Alanna, if you go to the right, you'll find yourselves at the main staircase, and someone will be glad to direct you to the banquet hall.  
  
Daionarus inclined his head respectfully and gestured for Numair to precede him into the hall. Squeezing Daine's arm lightly, the latter released her and strode from the room.  
  
Daine stared after them, turning slowly to face Alanna when her friend spoke.  
  
"Well," the Lioness muttered, releasing her breath in a sigh that stirred copper tendrils. "This has been some day. I guess appearances can be deceptive."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I thought the Sailan Isles looked idyllic. Paradise in the mortal realms."  
  
Daine looked at her grimly.  
  
"The most vicious creatures lurk in the most serene waters."

* * *

She reached the last step of the imposingly vast staircase and looked around warily. Alanna had decided that taking to her bed early sounded more inviting than food and Daine had no idea which direction Numair and Daionarus had taken. At a loose end, she had ended up in the palace foyer alone.  
  
Brushing a speck of grime from her shirt, she looked around at the lush elegance and evident wealth and sighed. Her eyes landed on a familiar figure, and her brows rose in interest.  
  
'Important business, Shakith's foot!' she thought, shaking her head.  
  
Jardan Treylrawne stood carelessly by a ridiculously large fountain, but he wasn't alone. A woman was draping herself over the handsome mage, fruitlessly trying to attract his attentions. Daine frowned, wondering why she was so familiar. Realization came coupled with annoyance. The preening and coquettish creature was a dead ringer for Varice Kingsford – only blonder and more buxom.  
  
"_Honestly_," she grumbled aloud. "You travel all the way over the Emerald Ocean..."  
  
A voice interrupted her disgruntled musings, and made her jump.  
  
"Are you looking for the banquet hall?"  
  
She turned, and smiled at Azassandra.  
  
"Yes, I am actually. I was just wondering which direction to take."  
  
_'Not plotting the demise of all busty blondes.'_  
  
"I'll show you," the Princess volunteered at once, "I'm a little hungry myself. Well, a lot hungry actually. I eat a disgusting amount of food. You may be shocked."  
  
Daine laughed. "I doubt that. Clearly, you've never sat down to a meal with me."  
  
Azassandra grinned back, then looked past her to Jardan and the Floozy.  
  
"Did something happen before?" she asked, "Jardan looks a little glum."  
  
Daine couldn't hold back a snort. "Oh yes," she said, eyeing his platinum-haired limpet. "Very glum."  
  
Her companion turned serious. "Oh, that's Lucia Marksham. She's like that with all the men. Actually, you should probably watch her around your Master Salmalin. He's just her type."  
  
Daine rolled her eyes. "Why doesn't that surprise me."  
  
"She's been trying to attach herself to Jardan for about five years now. But he'd never look at her."  
  
"He wouldn't?" She couldn't keep the doubt from her voice.  
  
"Oh no. Jardan's not...well, he keeps to himself. He never...he's so angry all the time now, so cynical. It's such a shame after the way he used to be. He's never been the same since..."  
  
Daine looked at her curiously. She hated gossip, but sensed that the princess could clear up part of the mystery that seemed to shroud the Isles. "Since?"  
  
"Since Kyria." Azassandra looked stricken suddenly. "Oh, I'm sorry...I shouldn't...I'm not supposed..."  
  
Daine shook her head at the sight of the other's distress. "It's alright. I won't mention it to anyone," she said reassuringly, and changed the subject, stifling her impatience to press the young woman further. "Shall we go to the hall?"  
  
Clearly relieved, the Princess gestured toward large wooden doors, flanked by immaculately garbed guards.  
  
"This way."  
  
Daine followed her, glancing back once at the other wild mage, eyes slightly narrowed.  
  
Her Ma had always taught her that an enquiring mind could be put to better use than nosiness.  
  
There were times when a person should follow their mother's advice.  
  
And times when they shouldn't. 


	8. Sailan Dreaming

**Disclaimer**: Daine, Numair and the rest of Tamora Pierce's characters, places and things belong to her. I'm just borrowing them. :) I made up the Sailan Isles and their people, fuelled by way too much caffeine!  
  
**A/N**: Huge amounts of fluff in this chapter. I'm warning in advance! It's also a bit shorter. My exams are over, yay, so I have lots of time for fanfiction. And sleeping. Thank you all so much for the reviews! I'm really glad that most people like the story so far. Again, if anything's totally off, I really appreciate being told so I can stop annoying people with mistakes! :)  
  
...................................  
  
Footsteps resounded in the hallway outside Daine's room, and she lifted her head to stare hopefully at the door. When it didn't obligingly open to reveal a tall lanky figure, she flopped back on the bed and released an impatient gust of breath. It was almost the midnight hour, and she hadn't seen Numair since he'd left with Daionarus. They'd been given separate chambers, of course, but that fact had never stopped them before. Daine smiled faintly. She was now quite adept at sneaking around darkened corridors, and Numair was yet to bear the separation for longer than thirty minutes.  
  
Until tonight. Rolling over, she propped her chin in her hand and frowned moodily. It'd been hours, and either he was talking the poor Elder's ear off, or he was avoiding her. Her frown became a scowl. She was well- acquainted with her love's stubborn nature, but he was being fair stupid about Jardan. She barely knew the mage, and besides, nobody saw her making such a fuss when they visited Carthak and Varice's perky blonde head popped up, did they? Well. There had been that one incident with the cider-laced tea... Seeing as how there was no one around to witness it, Daine allowed herself an amused snicker. Watching the tipsy flirt whip her skirts over her head and jiggle around the banquet table had more than made up for having to endure the spectacle of an impressive...frontage being pressed against Numair's arm every five seconds.  
  
So, mayhap she did allow jealousy to cloud her better judgment every so often. But at least she had some cause. Numair and Varice had a long history. She'd known of Jardan Treylrawne's existence for less than a day, and Numair was already being difficult about it. She could, of course, reassure him that he had nothing to worry about. She could tell him that she'd never loved any man before him, and would never need another. She could admit that she was counting the days until they were wed, despite her prior doubts about marriage.  
  
There were, in fact, many things she could say to Numair Salmalin. And if he had deigned to show up, he might have heard some of them.  
  
Gazing out the open window, Daine caught a whiff of the crisp night air and slid to her feet almost involuntarily, drawn to the peaceful dark. The breeze stirred her loose curls as she leaned against the stone sill, thinking and hesitating. Making up her mind, she moved in one swift action. Clothing dropped to the wooden beams with a soft rustle as a small sparrowhawk arched into the silver clouds.  
  
Peering around at the sprawling township beneath her, Daine let out a soft trill, enjoying the freedom of her new form. Moving like this, so high that she felt her wings could scrape the stars, was a blessed relief from the irritations of her human existence. She loved most things about her life now, but there was nothing like night-flying for escaping the occasional bothers. The wind whistled through her feathers as she dove back towards the palace, its myriad windows glowing with candlelight.  
  
Swooping skillfully around a northern turret, her keen eyes located what she was looking for – Numair's chamber. At least, she hoped it was Numair's chamber. If not, a palace-dweller was in for quite a shock.  
  
With practiced ease, Daine soared toward the window, mentally thanking whoever had left it ajar. Slipping into the room, she smoothly changed from sparrowhawk form back into that of a girl – a slight, slender girl who, apart from the badger claw around her neck, was stark naked. Bare feet gently hitting the polished floor, Daine looked around, accustomed and completely indifferent to her state of undress. She opened her mouth to crossly demand what the dickens Numair thought he was doing, hiding in his room, before pausing abruptly. If he _was_ hiding, he was awfully good at it. The room was clearly his. A tiny smile touched Daine's lips as she saw the scattered piles of books and papers, and the ink-smudged robe tossed carelessly over a chair. So, Numair's chambers, but where was Numair?  
  
Planting her hands on her hips, she glared about the room as if it might tell her. At the feel of her bare skin, she started and reached absently for the discarded robe. Just as her fingers touched it, the door opened and its owner strode purposefully in. Numair looked up and smiled instinctively, his eyes meeting hers. In the next instant, they traveled farther south and his brows shot up in surprise.

"Where've you been?" Daine demanded impatiently, "I thought you'd come to my..."  
  
Her voice trailed off in confusion as Numair flapped an arm at her to be silent. The tall mage turned with alarm to the doorway and spoke hurriedly.  
  
"It's really very late, Daionarus, perhaps I could bring those papers to you in the morning?"  
  
Barely suppressing a squawk of alarm, Daine bypassed the robe and dove for Numair's bed, burrowing under the covers. Hauling the blanket over her head, she fought down a fiery blush and fervently hoped that the Elder was feeling too fatigued for reading material.  
  
At the sound of a muffled chuckle, suspicion overtook embarrassment. Slowly lowering the woolen mantle, Daine pushed her hair from her face and peered out. Grinning unrepentantly, arms folded arrogantly across his chest, Numair stood watching her. Glancing warily at the doorway, she saw that it was empty. Her horrified expression swiftly changed to a glower, which only increased the mage's amusement as he carelessly pushed the door shut.  
  
"_Not_ funny, Numair," Daine snapped, sitting up and pulling the covers to her neck. Her chin jutted pugnaciously as she glared at him. Still grinning heartlessly, Numair sat beside her on the bed and reached to tug at her primly-clutched blanket. He pressed a warm, loving kiss to her exposed collarbone but couldn't restrain his quiet laughter.  
  
"I beg to differ, magelet," he returned, eyes alight with merriment. "I haven't seen you move so fast since that time Thayet tried to put ribbons in your hair."  
  
Daine scowled anew at the memory. "That wasn't funny either. She wanted me t'wear a _pink lace gown_. I looked like a diseased pig."  
  
Numair looked quickly down at his lap, shoulders shaking violently. Daine shoved him none too lightly and tried to maintain a look of outrage, but giggles were beginning to bubble from her own lips. It was irritatingly difficult to remain in a bad mood when he was determined to tease her out of it. Reaching for his hand, she inwardly sighed with relief. Having expected further questioning about Jardan, she was happy to see him in a better mood.  
  
Smiling, Numair lifted his other hand to her hair, twining a wayward curl around one long finger.  
  
"So what were you yelling about before that headlong scurry?" he questioned. "Don't get me wrong, you can jump into my bed anytime you like, but..." He winked at her with mock-lechery.  
  
Grinning despite herself, Daine shook her head at him with feigned severity. "Honestly. Men. Only one thing on their minds."  
  
Numair nodded sagely. "Sadly true."  
  
"And I wasn't yelling," she said defensively, "I was asking where you've been. It's been an age since supper, and I thought that you'd have come to my room before now."  
  
"Asking about my whereabouts, hmm? Very wifely," Numair said approvingly.  
  
"I'm not your wife," she told him archly.  
  
"Yet," he corrected, stroking his thumb over her knuckles.  
  
"Yet," she agreed, relenting and smiling back at him.  
  
He sighed, his good humour fading a little and seriousness seeping into his face. "I've been with Daionarus. I wanted to question him about the Blazewings."  
  
He sunk into silence, and Daine waited for a few moments, before giving into impatience.  
  
"He wouldn't tell you anything?"  
  
Numair frowned. "Oh no, he was very forthcoming. Very helpful, very eager to impart his knowledge."  
  
"And?" she probed.  
  
He let out a heavy breath. "Well, it doesn't make for a pleasant bed-time tale, that's for sure. He was being quite literal when he spoke of the Blazewings' venom having the ability to rob people of their humanity. It seems that if you are unfortunate enough to suffer their bite, your mind and body are eventually taken over by the creatures' main instincts."  
  
Daine shuddered as she remembered the Elder's words. "Competitiveness, selfishness..."  
  
Numair nodded grimly. "Yes, but to a greater extent than I had imagined. The Blazewings' victims see anything and everything as their rival. Apparently the poison remains dormant for a brief time, so they appear as normal. When it begins to infect their body...nothing can stand in their way."  
  
"They'll kill?"  
  
"And enjoy every drop of shed blood. Every negative aspect of human nature comes into play, and emotions...like love...are seen as weak and pitiful. The victim takes particular pleasure in destroying those who love them. They...laugh at their anguish and confusion."  
  
Colour leaching from her face, Daine searched his eyes. "They've experienced it, then? It's happened to someone here?"  
  
Hand tightening around hers, Numair nodded, his gaze fixed on hers. "Yes. It has. Apparently...apparently the last person to be bitten by a Blazewing was Jardan Treylrawne's betrothed."  
  
Daine's breath left her in a heavy gust. "_Kyria_." It wasn't a question.  
  
"He told you?" Numair asked sharply.  
  
She shook her head. "No, it's just...no."  
  
They sat in silence for a moment, before Daine turned a slightly shaky smile on him. Her face was devoid of any amusement or buoyancy.  
  
"I'm beginning to think Carthak might have been a better bet."  
  
Numair leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. "It'll be alright, sweet."  
  
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and held on tight. Somehow, when Numair told her that, she believed him.  
  
Nuzzling her neck gently, he lightly kissed her jaw. "Of course, you really are going to have to stop wandering about naked," he teased, in more blithe tones. "We may be an easy-going lot in Tortall, but the Sailans could be more uptight."  
  
Daine pulled on his horsetail, but didn't lift her head from his shoulder. It was too comfortable.  
  
Stroking the hair at her temples, Numair smiled against her skin. "Didn't anybody ever teach you that it's dangerous to wander into men's bed- chambers unclothed?"  
  
She pursed her lips and pretended to think. "I don't know. I'm not sure that I remember that particular lesson. You're my teacher, remember?"  
  
He pulled back, a thoughtful crease between his brows and a smile tugging at his lips. "Oh, yes. I'd forgotten." He raised a pompous brow. "It's dangerous to wander naked into a man's bed-chamber. Don't do it again."  
  
In an abrupt movement, Daine pulled free of his arms and stood, taking a few airy steps away from the bed.  
  
"Well, in that case," she said solemnly, a grin threatening to break free, "I'd better go and find some clothing."  
  
She took a few more steps, began to turn, and then shrieked with laughter as two large hands caught her around the waist and pulled her back on the mattress.  
  
"On second thoughts," Numair informed her, "I've decided it's alright to wander naked around one particular man's room."  
  
Daine smiled up at him serenely, her hands sliding to clasp his shoulders. "Oh, good," she remarked, "I'm sure Neal will be relieved to hear it."  
  
There was a moment of stunned silence, before he growled and proceeded to punish her in the most delicious way possible.  
  
..............................  
  
_Daine opened her eyes, and looked around. She was in a forest clearing. The air was very still, as if no breeze dared venture here. The canopy of trees towering above her cast sinuous shadows and she could hear the faint babbling of a brook. A branch cracked lightly behind her, and she jumped, spinning to face her assailant.  
  
'Badger,' she said with relief, recognizing her guardian. Her body relaxed, but she waited with apprehension for his words.  
  
'Hello Kit,' he said, his eyes smiling at her. He moved to her side with the easy grace of the divine. 'I'm sorry to disturb your slumber, but I have to speak with you.'  
  
'About the Blazewings?' Daine asked quickly, hoping that he could lessen her uneasiness about the creatures, the Isles, this whole venture.  
  
'The Blazewings,' Badger said heavily. 'Yes. They are one of many things to fear here. There is much danger, Kit, and you must be wary. They are not what they seem, the beasts. Many things are not what they seem.'  
  
'They're mage-made, Badger. Do you know who's responsible?'  
  
'I can only tell you to be very careful of whom you trust. Remember, Kit, things are not what they seem...'  
_  
..............................  
  
Daine awoke with a start, wrapped in the safety of Numair's arms, her heart racing. Rubbing her hand over her chest, she turned slightly and looked into his peaceful face, so at odds with her own turbulent thoughts. Gripping her shaking hands together, she slowly laid her head back down against him. His chest hair lightly tickled her cheek and gentle snores reverberated in her ear. Usually the sound soothed her. Tonight, feelings of dread pulled at her stomach and throat. She stared straight ahead, eyes open and wide.  
  
_'Remember, Kit, things are not what they seem...'_


	9. Love and Truth

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything that you recognise from the Tamora Pierce books.

**A/N:** Thank for all the encouraging reviews, and to everyone who's reading this. And if you have criticisms, don't worry, I won't name evil characters after you in Chapter 10! Sorry for the delay in updating. I'm on holiday, but we're updating our computer to Jetstream, and I've had trouble getting on the internet. Plus I'm feeling lazy. :)

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"Are you even listening to me?"  
  
Daine started guiltily as the deep tones resonated in her ear. Glancing up at Jardan rather sheepishly, she shrugged in apology. The other mage shook his head in mild exasperation.  
  
It was five days since the Tortallians had arrived in the Sailan Isles, and Daine and Jardan had spent the last two in close conference while he attempted to teach her the art of 'Blazewing noise control', as he'd so succinctly put it. It was irritating for her, to say the least, to find herself under the thumb of a new teacher – especially when the teacher in question was not much older than she, and possessed of similar powers. It also didn't help that he had a tendency to either forget or ignore those facts, and behave in a smug way that made her want to create a little noise of her own. Or jam a quill into his eye, whichever proved more satisfying. However, there was no way that Daine was going to find herself floundering and useless in the next battle. That there would be another battle, she no longer doubted. Even before Badger's ominous warning, she'd had a strange, tense feeling in the pit of her stomach. If she'd learned one lesson since her first encounter with the people of Tortall, it was to always trust her instincts. And her instincts were shrieking that there was something brewing - and that she probably wasn't going to like it.  
  
"Sorry," she muttered, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. She squinted at the impatient man pacing before her, and leaned forward from her perch on a hollowed log. As both of them felt more comfortable outdoors, where they could easily hear the many voices of the People, Daine had been meeting Jardan in a secluded area of the palace gardens each day after breakfast. Their first 'lesson' in a deserted forest clearing had felt a little too much like a clandestine meeting between lovers, so she'd quickly expressed an interest in seeing Azassandra's flowers. The fact that she'd referred to the exotic blooms as "leaves and things", combined with her self-conscious blush, hadn't exactly hidden her awkwardness. To his credit, Jardan, although not attempting to hide his derisive eye-roll, had silently concurred with her wishes.  
  
Why she felt strange being alone with him, Daine had no idea, but she wasn't planning to bring the topic into conversation anytime soon. And she certainly wasn't going to mention it to Numair. Things were shaky enough between them as it was. Despite his ready supply of smiles and kisses for her, Daine could sense Numair's unhappiness, and had a horrible feeling they were heading for an argument. They hadn't openly discussed her growing friendship with the handsome wild mage, but Numair was barely civil to the other man, who in turn seemed to regard him with amused tolerance. And growing friendship it was. Although his arrogance and blunt opinions could make Daine's teeth grit and fists clench, she respected Jardan. Liking him didn't come as easily – he was one of the most shuttered and reserved people she'd ever met – but she couldn't deny the befuddling connection between them.  
  
He wasn't all _that_ bad.  
  
"You know, Daine, I'd really rather not have to coddle you during another attack, so if you could stop daydreaming about the Storkman for thirty minutes..."  
  
On second thoughts...  
  
"Where did you hear that name?" Daine asked crossly, getting to her feet and idly brushing dirt from her breeches. One custom of the Isles that she fully appreciated was the lack of skirts. Azassandra had been surprised when Daine had reluctantly asked if she should wear a gown to dinner, and had explained that it was very rare for women to wear them at all. Breeches were considered immeasurably more practical and Daine whole-heartedly agreed.  
  
"Your marmoset has a taste for gossip," Jardan drawled, laughter richly lacing his voice.  
  
Daine groaned inwardly. If Jardan called Numair that in his hearing, it would simply add fuel to his dislike.  
  
"Apparently he's not the only one," she returned pointedly, reaching for her bow and quiver.  
  
Jardan raised an eyebrow. "Going somewhere?" he asked laconically.  
  
"I'm meeting Numair for luncheon," she said, narrowing her eyes and daring him to comment.  
  
Apparently he didn't find her intimidating. "How nice," he said, with mock whimsy, "A romantic picnic is it?"  
  
"No," Daine replied flatly. It was easy to recognise when Jardan's mood began to turn difficult. "Probably bread and fish, and keeping company with the royal family and half of the court. We don't have 'romantic picnics'. And even if we did, t'would hardly be any of your business."  
  
"Oh, it wouldn't," Jardan agreed readily, "But I find being nosy is worth watching your cheeks turn that interesting shade of red."  
  
Daine fought the urge to raise her hands to her face, which probably _was_ flushed with irritation.  
  
"So," he continued, eyeing her with such innocence that she was immediately suspicious. "No romantic picnics, hmm? How disappointing for you. "Bread and fish" accompanied by a hundred pairs of watching eyes is hardly the fodder of passion. Where are the moonlight trysts and sunshine frolics of true love?"  
  
The biting cynicism could hardly have been more obvious if he'd taken it and smacked her over the head.  
  
Without thinking, Daine retorted hot-temperedly: "Just because _you've_ never been in love doesn't..."  
  
She broke off sharply, and stared at him in genuine contrition, mentally kicking herself.  
  
"Jardan. I'm sorry, I forgot..."  
  
If his involuntary flinch at her words had been discomfiting, the stoniness that now settled on his face urged her to take a couple of steps back.  
  
"I see that Zek and I aren't the only gossipmongers around here," he said icily, his green eyes so cold it hurt her to look into them. "The rumor mill has been busily churning, then?"  
  
"No one was gossiping," Daine denied warily. "It was just mentioned in passing..."  
  
"_What_ was mentioned in passing, exactly?"  
  
The words were dangerous, and she hadn't been this uncertain of her territory since her journey to the Dragonlands.  
  
"Nothing really...just that you...you lost someone...special in a Blazewing attack," she said awkwardly, fighting the urge to take bird form and take flight.  
  
At this rate, she'd probably end up plucked and stewed on his dinner plate anyway.  
  
"Look," she forced herself to continue at his prolonged silence. "No one was talking about you behind your back. If anyone mentions you at all, it's to sing your praises, and Kyria really seems to be a forbidden..."  
  
"Daine," he interrupted quietly. "Do me one favour."  
  
It wasn't a request. However, one look at Jardan's thunderous expression and she was about ready to agree to any of his commands, if only to relieve the awful tension.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Don't ever mention that name in front of me again."  
  
It was the flatly unemotional way he spoke the words that tore at Daine. She understood the level of pain that hid behind that kind of reserve; it had been her coping mechanism after her Ma's death, after she'd done things that she wasn't proud of now...  
  
Unable to hold back, she reached out to him instinctively.  
  
"Jardan," she said impulsively, aware she was probably about to get blasted, but not really caring, "I'm sorry you lost someone you loved, and that you got hurt, but you..."  
  
He jerked away before she could touch him.  
  
"Look," he bit out, "I've heard it all before, alright? The sympathy, the pity, the _wisdom_ from other people happily wallowing in lust. Believe me, there's nothing new you could possibly add."  
  
Pain and scorn were etched into every angle of his face.  
  
Daine fought for words, but had no idea what to say, how to fix the moment. She'd been wondering what it would take to break through Jardan's impassive walls, but now that she had, she desperately wished she'd never opened her mouth.  
  
"You have no idea," he continued harshly, "How much well-meaning _drivel_ I've had to endure. Every blind fool who thinks they're safely in love has advice to dish out. '_So_ terrible what happened to her, but you must move on.' 'You have to find love again. It's not _healthy_ to be so bitter.' Everyone thinks their own lives are perfect, and that mine needs fixing."  
  
"But...but you could find love again," Daine said disjointedly, mesmerized by the agony in his voice and barely aware of what words were leaving her mouth. "I don't know what you've been through, but it could happen."  
  
"_Love_," Jardan said contemptuously.  
  
"Is a wondrous thing," Daine insisted, and believed it. Gods only knew, her life had strengthened for knowing and loving Numair. "D'you not believe that? You've known it."  
  
He stared at her silently for a moment, his face once again blank and eyes unreadable.  
  
Daine met his gaze, the air thick with tension, their harsh breathing the only sound. Even the People seemed to be waiting for his next words with bated breath.  
  
"You know," he said finally, too indifferently to fool her, "If you go walking in any village of the Isles, you'll find a bard singing myths to the children. Spewing happy, fuzzy lies about everlasting bliss and the saving grace of true love. When I was younger, I thought it was nonsense. I didn't believe that any such emotion existed. I thought that people would only ever look out for themselves, and that nobody had the capacity to care wholly unselfishly about another."  
  
Every syllable was cutting and ruthless, the sentences coming in an abrupt cadence. Daine remained frozen, her eyes fixed on his face.  
  
"Ironic, isn't it, that you're supposed to gain wisdom with age. Seems that I knew more at five than I did at fifteen. You're right, I have known love. I scorned the idea my entire life, and ended up tripping over my beliefs and falling right at her feet. Suddenly, my life was completely different. I was happy, for awhile. I was in love and I was normal." His mocking smile was completely without humour. "Falling in love was the biggest mistake of my life. Allowing that love to blind me to the truth, well, that followed close behind."  
  
"And what is the truth?" Daine asked, her voice barely above a whisper.  
  
His eyes were sharp green flints as he looked at her. "You think that your love for him is something special and unique, something above the dirty grit of reality. You think that he loves you and that he couldn't hurt you, and if you ever do discover the truth, it'll be too late. Often it's easier to hate than it is to love, but once you do love, it becomes this irrevocable, redeeming emotion. And the truth? The truth is that love is a poison, a curse. It's about giving someone complete power over you, and being fool enough to believe they won't misuse it. It's corruptible and it's fickle and it's damaging. So yes, I have known love – and I've looked upon its true face, stripped bare of romantic sentiment and naïve wishes. And I would rather battle the Three Sorrows alone, armed only with a _stick_, than ever experience that torment again. No doubt I would fare better."  
  
He subsided into silence, retreating back behind his self-imposed barriers. Seconds slipped into minutes as the two stood motionless.  
  
Finally, Jardan moved jerkily away, picking up his sword and re-tying it to his waist in a quick, efficient action.  
  
"Enjoy your luncheon," he said, with rigid politeness and without looking at her. "I'll...see you later."  
  
Before Daine could formulate a reply or even blink in acknowledgement, he was gone, striding along the path back to the palace.  
  
When he had disappeared from sight, she let out a long, heavy breath. Realizing that her fists, and most of her muscles, were clenched and rigid with tension, she tried to relax. Her brain felt as thick and sluggish as the oat pudding Numair had made last summer, when he'd been experimenting with cooking.  
  
How long she would have stood in that dumb, immobile state, she couldn't have said, but a new voice shocked her into motion.  
  
"Mistress Sarrasri?"  
  
Her head snapped to the right, in the direction of the gently questioning tones. Sir Tremain stood there, watching her with concern.  
  
"Daine? Are you alright?"  
  
She nodded slowly. "Yes, I'm...yes. I'm fine."  
  
She smiled at him, but it felt shaky and probably didn't come across in the least reassuring.  
  
"Are you sure? Is there anything I can do to help?" he pressed, deep brown eyes searching her face. Their first day in the Sailan Isles, she'd guessed that he was a kindly man, and her every encounter with him in the last few days had only reinforced that notion. The King's Champion was widely respected and, it seemed, universally liked.  
  
"No," she said firmly, "Thank you, no. I'm really alright. Just a little...tired," she lied.  
  
He didn't look convinced, but politely changed the subject. "Yes, you've had a busy few days. I understand that you're fitting in extraordinarily well here, however. Everywhere I go, it seems, I'm hearing about this paragon of beauty and charm who's so enslaved our wild mage," he teased lightly.  
  
"Hardly," Daine muttered, almost laughing at the irony.  
  
Sir Tremain sobered a little, comprehension crossing his face. "Is Jardan giving you a tough time?"  
  
"Not really," she said, frowning. "It's just...he's so..."  
  
The knight nodded. "I know he's not an easy person to get along with. He's had an immense amount of suffering in his life, and he's very angry. But he is a good man, Daine. Don't give up on him."  
  
"He doesn't make it easy to like him," she murmured.  
  
"No, I know he doesn't. But he needs friends more than anyone realizes...himself included. I know he's difficult. He's cynical as all get out, and in more pain than any being should ever have to face. But he is a good man," Sir Tremain repeated, meeting her gaze.  
  
"I know," she said, meaning it. Jardan might be moody and conflicted, and extremely trying, but she believed the other man's words.  
  
The Champion smiled at her. "I think you'll be good for him," he said thoughtfully.  
  
Before Daine could question that assertion, he offered her his arm. "May I escort you to the banquet room?" he asked gallantly, eyes twinkling, "I believe that there is a certain mage there very anxious to see you."  
  
Daine, trying to push back her feelings of unease, slipped her arm through his and forced a smile to her face. Even the thought of seeing Numair again – even a few hours apart from him could feel an age – couldn't retrieve any tentative sense of well-being. Jardan's words, and the depth of feeling behind them, had thrown her, and she knew she wouldn't forget this morning.  
  
They headed down the same path Jardan had taken a few minutes before, Sir Tremain slowing his steps to match Daine's shorter stride. She breathed in the warm fresh air, and tried to let the tranquility of the morning sooth her. A pair of love birds trilled a greeting to her as they soared overhead, and she returned it with forced enthusiasm, choosing not to view them as symbolic in any way.  
  
They were a hundred yards or so from the palace when they heard the sharp cry. She checked in her steps as her eyes searched for its source. Her companion tensed beside her when Jardan dashed through an ivy arch. Seeing them, he stopped and jerked his head sharply back the way he'd come.  
  
"Come on!" he shouted, "We have a few uninvited guests."  
  
Sir Tremain cursed violently under his breath, and surged forward. Daine ran after him, her stomach dropping. She reached Jardan's side and grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at her.  
  
"Not..." She couldn't even finish.  
  
"Blazewings," he confirmed briefly, heavily.  
  
Dread clawing at her throat, Daine sprinted toward the palace, automatically pulling her bow from her shoulder and reaching for an arrow.  
  
She couldn't miss Jardan's ominous words as he followed her up a flight of mossy stone steps.  
  
"Here we go again."


	10. Loss

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything that you recognise from Tamora Pierce's books.

**A/N**: Pretty dark chapter, with almost zero fluff. I promise there'll be more later. What can I say, I'm fluff-obsessed! Again, thank you for the reviews and the advice. I really really appreciate them. I see some people have ideas about what's going to happen. I'm not really sure myself! I know pretty much who's bad and who's good, and I have a basic plot, and that's about it. :)

....................................

Bow in hand, her body taut with tension, Daine tore up the last few steps and sprinted through a towering stone bower into a grassy plain. With immediate shocking force, the now familiar, but still terrible, cries of the diving, circling Blazewings ripped through her bones, sending her reeling back and scattering coherent thought. Crying out, she pressed one hand to her ear in a pathetic attempt to stop the pain. Panting sobs and a thousand agonized screams ricocheted inside her mind, whirling into a suffocating vortex of torture. Choking for breath, she struggled against the strangling hold of icy limbs – invisible claws that seemed to tear at organs and sunder muscles. She was shaking with frigid cold and fear, but her mind and gut burned like the stabbing of molten steel.   
  
Forced almost to her knees, like a supplicant praying for mercy, one tangible emotion seemed to latch onto the straying threads of Daine's consciousness. Annoyance. Once more she was being rendered useless in battle by an unknown foe, a coward who hid behind their monstrous creations. Clinging to those muted feelings of outrage and defiance, she jerked to her feet in an abrupt movement. Eyes clamped shut, she tried to focus, frantically grasping at any remaining lucidity. It was as if cold hands had slashed into her skull, and were slowly compressing her brain in clammy dead flesh.  
  
Nails burrowing and clawing fruitlessly through her hair, Daine silently screamed her desperation, trying to drown out the wails of betrayal. A stray command eased its way between pained cries – the faint recollection of a lesson. Jardan. She remembered his voice, coaching, instructive...saying...saying what? Memory struck her like a bodily blow, reason following in its wake.  
  
_'Push the cries out of your head. It isn't like shutting out the voices of the People; you have to think of the pain as a material object and clear it. If you envision something that you lo...something that makes you happy, it's like gaining an extra pair of arms to help. Think of it as applying brute mental force.'  
  
'Something that you...what were you going to say? Something that you love?'  
  
'Don't go there, Daine.'_  
  
Her hands and legs shook with exhaustion, as if she really were striking out against a physical attack. The dense shroud of terror dissipated slightly, and faint images began to take hold. She slowly pieced together pictures of Numair - his rueful frown as he corrected her grammar, sleepy smiles in the morning and kisses at night and, finally, a large trembling fist opening to reveal a ring. Adrenalin shot through Daine's body and she gasped aloud, shaking free of the last crippling cries. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she stood in momentary stillness, panting with relief.  
  
Before she could register her surroundings or try to move sluggish muscles, a blur of motion shot past Daine's left eye and a burning heat touched her skin. Still weak, she was critically slow to react. Beginning to turn, to grab for her fallen bow, she screamed in sudden outrage as violent pain tore through her scalp. The Blazewing tightened its talons with sadistic pleasure, slashing through her curls to rip at tender skin. Ignoring her painful struggles and breathless curses, the creature lifted her kicking feet clear of the ground. The moment she became convinced that her hair was parting company with her head, a livid shout broke the air nearby. Black fire erupted in her vision, encircling her ankles and netting the beast in tight tendrils. A surge of power pushed her upward and held, giving blessed relief to her tormented tresses.

Struggling wildly against its suffocating bonds, the Blazewing concentrated its strength and jerked, throwing Daine full force against the nearby stone wall. The jarring impact shuddered through her tired frame, and she landed in the dirt with scarce enough energy to breathe. Cracking open eyes that felt encrusted by sweat and blood, she was just in time to see the black ropes flex with enraged vengeance. The pressure proved too much and the creature exploded in an impressively disgusting display.  
  
Tempted to sink back to the ground and succumb to either sleep or death – if it meant a release from her aching body, she didn't care which just then – Daine forced herself to rise. Clambering to her knees and then her feet, she swayed, struck by instant dizziness and nausea. Gingerly, she raised a hand to the back of her head and immediately winced at the sight of crimson- soiled fingers. Peering around almost sleepily for her bow and quiver, the scene before her finally became shockingly clear, and air halted in her parched throat.  
  
Before her wide horrified eyes, the Sailans and Tortallians – torn, bloody and wavering – fought valiantly against myriad Blazewings. Surging urgently forward, Daine scrambled for her weapon, her gaze mentally gauging the mass of the enemy. Twenty – no, more – perhaps thirty of the colossal creatures sliced through the sky, feverish flaming eyes fixed on their human targets. The density of their writhing, driven forms cast murky shadows along the grass, skating over fallen bodies and ominous stains.  
  
A sudden cry broke Daine from her transfixed state. Forgetting the pain of her body through sheer necessity, she snapped around and saw Azassandra desperately trying to evade the grasp of a particularly brutish beast. The princess' daggers were several yards beyond her grasping hands, firmly implanted in the neck of a dead Blazewing. Its insatiable brethren lunged at her, teeth bared, deftly avoiding her frantic kicks. Drawing her bow, Daine didn't hesitate. Her arrow hit the creature in the wing and it flailed mid-air, before falling gracelessly to the ground. Undaunted, determined to get its prey, the monster lurched forward, broken appendage dragging through the mud. Her second shot splintered its neck; the third lodged in its head. Doggedly, it persisted, hooked talons arcing with lethal skill. Reaching back with both hands, Azassandra gripped her daggers, pulled them free and vaulted to her feet. One arm drove forward with angry force, the other sliced the sky, and the Blazewing dropped at her feet. As the flames in its black domed eyes flickered and faded, the girl looked over at Daine quickly.  
  
"Thanks..._Daine! Watch your back!_"  
  
This time, Daine was prepared. Whipping around, her fingers tightened on Weiryn's bow and she fired an arrow at close range. Her assailant's upper torso burst, splattering a vile-smelling black substance. Swiping it from her lashes, Daine scowled. She was getting fair tired of these gods-cursed eyesores. Energized by her growing irritation, she reeled off one shot after another, relentlessly pursuing the Blazewings as they looped above. Black smoke rose in the sky as explosions of power echoed along the ground. Numair was using bolts of opaque lightning to herd the beasts into a charmed sphere, whereupon they began to buck like angry stallions, careening off nonexistent walls until they deflated into dust. Daionarus, head cocked and face calm, stood resolutely with both arms raised, hands moving slightly with the force of his Gift. He had created a magical shield that wrapped the palace like a Midsummer parcel, protecting the children and servants within.  
  
A short distance from him, and picking off Blazewings with almost frightening ease, were the two remaining Elders, Isorus and Lemerus. The pair had arrived from their respective isles two days earlier, a fact that Daine was now immeasurably grateful for. Isorus of Zlarimorr was a man of perhaps sixty years, with long white hair, a grizzled beard and kind twinkling eyes. Lemerus of Aronyll, to Daine's surprise, had turned out to be a woman, and a relatively youthful one at that. The female Elder looked to be around thirty, and was extremely attractive with reddish brown hair and a dancing blue gaze. The sheer strength of the power emanating from them was daunting. Fortunately, the mages were fighting on their side and the Blazewings were the ones copping their wrath.  
  
As she reached back into her dwindling supply of arrows, Daine spared a quick glance around, searching out her friends. A clash of steel and an ire- filled war cry alerted her to Alanna's presence. The Lioness was trapped in combat with two of the merciless creatures, her expression one of annoyance rather than fear. Close by, Jardan, Sir Tremain, King Benjamin and Queen Lijana also wielded their swords, faces set in ferocious lines. Dodging a vicious snap of teeth by her shoulder, Daine allowed herself a small smile. No fretting or surrender from the Sailans, then. Even Prince Braydon and Sir Renwald had deigned to enter the skirmishing, brandishing their weapons with surprising competence.

Her temper focused on a gallingly tenacious beast, Daine failed to notice the glinting eyes that fixed on her from above, their cruel gleam flaring with hunger.  
  
The largest of the Blazewing pack jackknifed with staggering speed, talons extended, teeth aching to bite. Head inclined toward her last opponent's carcass, Daine looked up out of pure instinct. Immediately, her hand scrabbled for an arrow. Her quiver was empty. Frantically, she looked around, searching for a sword, a knife, a large _rock_ if need be, anything to defend herself. There was nothing. Her Ma would have had a bar of lye soap in her mouth if she'd heard the curses tumbling from her lips, Daine thought numbly. With a muffled shriek, she ducked the Blazewing's grasp, wind rushing past her as its heavy body dove. Falling across the victim of her previous shot, she grabbed the arrow with both hands, pulling at it frenetically. It held, lodged on gods knew what. As heat blasted across her skin, she turned with hateful anticipation, waiting to feel the cut of fang and claw.  
  
An outstretched limb swiped at her throat with deadly aim - just as strong hands wrapped around her arms, hauling her bodily out of its path. She stumbled back against Jardan, latching onto him instinctively as they tumbled to the ground. A searing sound struck the air as one molten wing scraped along the other wild mage's arm. He swore loudly, grasping at his burnt flesh. Rolling off him, Daine scrambled to her feet first, head pounding, muscles aching. Only two of the pieces of filth were left: her adversary and another, slightly smaller, creature that was effortlessly evading slaughter. As the mammoth beast rounded above her again, mad eyes transfixed by her throat, she looked around once more.  
  
"_Daine!_"  
  
Alanna's voice cut the tension sharply, and Daine spun to face her. The Lioness had seized hold of an abandoned sword, and was wrenching it from the corpse of a Blazewing. With all the strength she had left, she threw it, dagger-style, in Daine's direction. The fact that it reached Daine was astonishing. The fact that she actually managed to catch it without slicing her hand off at the wrist was nothing short of amazing. As soon as her fingers closed around it, Daine swung it upward with as much force as she could muster. The blade struck the Blazewing in its brawny chest and ruptured forward, splitting the monster clear in two. More of the nauseating bile spewed forth, coating both Daine and the grass in sticky mage-cursed blood.  
  
Taking a few trembling steps back, she almost tread on Jardan as he clambered to his feet. What happened next would later be a blur to Daine. She was turning to locate the final Blazewing when something struck her forcibly on her already wounded skull. Head snapping forward, pain seemed to explode through her brain and out her eyes. She fell forward, hands refusing to cooperate in catching her fall. As she hit the ground, she twisted her face to the side, in a motion she would always regret. As it was, she ended up with a perfectly clear view of the rest of the company, scattered in various states of injury around the plain. All heads turned toward her prostrate form, giving the last remaining Blazewing the opportunity it needed. It aimed for the closest target, and struck. A hoarse cry of warning erupted from Daine's lips, too late, as razor-sharp claws stabbed into Sir Tremain's throat, and ripped. He stumbled back, tripping, falling. The Blazewing continued its assault, tearing at his armour, through it, into his chest.  
  
Jardan was the first to react. His footsteps thundered past her, his anguished cry renting the air. Reaching the beast, he dove for it with sword and fist, stabbing relentlessly in a catharsis of fury and grief. Finally, they were both still, the Blazewing's body as mutilated as its victim's. There was a momentary silence – a terrible, terrible silence – and Daine tried to raise her head, to no avail. Her body wouldn't respond. In a noise that she would never forget, a scream ripped the air, and there was motion. She could feel it reverberating through the ground. A figure dashed into the fog of her vision, and flung itself down beside Sir Tremain's lifeless body.  
  
Someone was kneeling beside Daine and stroking large, shaking hands over her. Numair. She could hear him, as if from a great distance, speaking frantically, but her attention was on the distraught figure and slain warrior. She recognized Lady Madelyn Balharran, the Champion's likable young wife, as the woman clutched at her husband with desperate fists, pulling at him, urging him. Her devastated keening cries were a sound more soul-destroying than the wails of the Blazewings. She hunched over, and Daine focused on the curve of her stomach – swollen and ripe with child. It was the last thing she saw before the darkness encroached.


	11. Enough is Enough

**Disclaimer**: Everything that's recognisable from the Tamora Pierce books belongs to her.

**A/N**: Wow, so many reviews and I appreciate them all! Ok, I seem to have accidentally caused a bit of confusion in the last chapter. Although it may sound like Daine's pregnant, I actually meant that Sir Tremain's wife is. One reviewer mentioned it (thank you, your reviews have been really encouraging!), and then two more people messaged me about it, so I re-read the end of Chapter 10, and I can see how it could be taken like that. So, sorry about that! I know a lot of people like fics about a DN baby! Numair would probably be having heart failure if pregnant Daine started throwing arrows around. Aindel S. Druida, I know, the last chapter was a bit confusing (in more ways than one apparently :)) but I've never really written battle scenes before, and everything came out kind of...frenzied! I hope it wasn't too hard to read. Mel, thank you for one of my nicest reviews. Nope, never studied writing, I'm actually an art history major. But I love reading other people's work, and I'd love to maybe be a writer some day, but in the meantime, I'm completely addicted to fanfiction! Thank you to everyone else who reviewed too!

**............................................... **

Daine wrenched free of a particularly gripping nightmare, moaning slightly as instant pain seized her. She cracked open one eye – only to discover that Lucia Marksham's hands were wrapped around her throat. Jerking back, she tried to escape the older woman's hold, but her admittedly feeble attempts were ignored.  
  
"_Shhh_," Lucia murmured, almost soothingly. "You've got a nasty head injury. Try to keep still."  
  
As gentle fingers moved around to the back of her head, Daine winced sharply, fighting the instinct to push them away. Memory flooded back in a rush – along with screams and the smell of blood, and other things that she wanted nothing more than to forget, she recalled that the blonde vamp was also an extremely gifted Healer. A comforting purple glow lit the corner of her vision and her discomfort eased. Briefly registering the fierce grip that someone had on her hand, she sunk back into the oblivious folds of sleep.  
  
The next time Daine woke, her lashes parted tentatively. Breathing slowly in and out, she first appreciated that there was very little pain, and second, that no light assaulted her tired eyes. Her room was quiet and dusky, and she guessed it must be at least early evening. Swallowing hard, she reluctantly let reality take hold, remembering the battle, the Blazewings...Sir Tremain. The thought of that violent death – the butchering of a man she had come to consider a friend – caused fresh waves of misery to swamp her body. Trying to ignore the lump in her throat, she turned her head slightly on the pillow. Numair's face was close to hers, his eyes shut and breathing uneven. He was pressed as close to her as possible, one large hand curved possessively over her hip. The other firmly gripped the arm she had flung over her head.  
  
Not trusting her voice to speak, she leaned forward and touched her face to his. His dark eyes opened at once, confirming what she had suspected, that he wasn't sleeping. She managed a faint smile. Once the mage fell asleep, a bugle-player could practise at his ear without fear of waking him. Numair rose up a little, serious gaze locked with hers. Lines of lingering worry were etched around his mouth, and he looked exhausted.  
  
"Have you slept at all?" Daine asked hoarsely, finding words in her concern.  
  
He smiled briefly, grimly. "No. Sleep hasn't been a high priority the past few hours." The hand at her waist moved to carefully capture her chin, turning her face for his anxious perusal. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"Much better," she assured him. Her expression sobered. "Physically, anyway."  
  
He nodded, rather heavily. "You...remember everything that happened, then?" he asked hesitantly.  
  
Biting her lip to stop a sudden rush of tears, Daine looked down. Gods, she was sick of it. Sick of losing people, tired of grieving, of sorrow.  
  
"How's Lady Madelyn doing?" she asked, avoiding the question directly, her voice thick with undisguised sadness.  
  
Numair shook his head regretfully. "I don't know, sweet. I haven't heard. I...I didn't want to leave. I was worried that..." His voice cracked slightly.  
  
Daine slipped her arm around his neck, pulling him down to her and hugging him tightly.  
  
"I'm fine," she said firmly, ignoring the tiny twinge of protesting muscles. "Honest."  
  
Leaning back, he opened his mouth to say something, before hesitating. There was a brief silence and Daine waited, looking up at him. The suddenness with which he covered her lips in a hard kiss took her by surprise, her startled murmur captured in his mouth. Enthusiastically returning the gesture and sliding her arms about his waist, she gently rubbed Numair's back, worried by the perceptible shudders that wracked his long frame.  
  
"Goddess," he gasped out, when they finally parted from a mutual need for breath. "I was out of my mind." He frowned fiercely down at her. "You, magelet, are going to have me old and grey long before my time. You're sure you're alright?"  
  
"Well," she admitted ruefully, "My brain feels a little addled, but I don't think I can blame the Blazewings for that."  
  
He smiled reluctantly.  
  
"I should get Lucia back to check on you."  
  
Daine's teasing expression swiftly disappeared. "Oh yes," she said, rather archly. "I suppose I should thank _Lady Marksham_. Where's Alanna anyhow? She's not hurt, is she?" she asked hurriedly, suddenly anxious.  
  
Numair smoothed a calming hand over her hair, tucking back a loose curl. "She's perfectly well. Upset about Sir Tremain, of course, and raising a few blushes with some very inventive language, but not hurt. A young squire received a serious chest wound, and Alanna's been doing her best to help him. I imagine she'll be along here shortly. She was fretting about you like a mother hen."  
  
Daine couldn't help giggling at that, unable to imagine the fearless Lioness fretting.  
  
"I most certainly was _not_."  
  
The indignant voice came from Daine's doorway.  
  
Struggling to a sitting position, she focused on an incensed Alanna. The redhead planted a fist on each hip and glared at an unrepentant Numair.  
  
"I'll have you know, Salmalin," she said pointedly, "That I am the epitome of self-control, and I have never _fretted_ in my life." Then her gaze shifted to Daine, and softened. "Except maybe today," she conceded. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"Good as new," Daine assured. "You weren't hurt then?"  
  
The Lioness shrugged. "A few bruises, nothing spectacular. We were lucky. _Most_ of us were lucky," she amended quietly.  
  
"Have you seen his wife?" Numair questioned somberly, lacing his fingers through Daine's.  
  
"Yes. Briefly." Alanna sighed deeply. "Healers are watching over her in her room. She's distraught. There's already been a problem with the baby. Bleeding."  
  
"She hasn't lost it?" Daine asked, horrified that the woman might lose both her husband and their child in one day.  
  
"No, but it was a possibility. She's keeping quiet now, at least. The poor creature can barely move, she's so devastated. Understandably."  
  
Daine nodded, unconsciously clutching at Numair. He glanced down at her, and stroked a gentle hand over her back.  
  
A polite knocking had them all looking at the door again.  
  
Jardan stood there, one hand resting on the handle. He raised questioning eyebrows.  
  
"Sorry to interrupt. Is it alright to come in?"  
  
Daine was pretty sure she felt Numair's chest rise and fall in a sigh, but nodded nonetheless.  
  
The wild mage's face was hard and set, bronzed skin stretched taut over bones. He paused at the end of her bed, studying her for a moment.  
  
"You actually look better than the rest of us," he said finally, quirking a satirical brow. "Impressive, considering the mess you were before."  
  
"Gee," Daine said flatly. "Thanks."  
  
"Lady Marksham did a good job," Alanna approved. "I wanted to be here myself, but duty called downstairs."  
  
Jardan nodded. "How is your patient now?"  
  
"He'll pull through. The recovery will be painful, but he'll make it."  
  
There was a brief, slightly awkward, silence.  
  
"Where is the fair Lucia now?" Jardan asked, after a few minutes had passed.  
  
"Monitoring Lady Madelyn, I think." Alanna folded her arms, head tilted to one side. "Her Gift is impressive. I've never come across a more able Healer. You're in very good hands here."  
  
"Quite," said Jardan, an odd inflection in his tone. "She's something, that's for certain."  
  
Daine's eyes narrowed as she watched him. There was something in his face. As if he knew, or suspected something, that other people did not...  
  
He caught her gaze and held it squarely, that strange gleam vanishing.  
  
Numair spoke up slowly. "I'm sorry," he said to Jardan, "About your friend."  
  
Pain fleeted across the other man's expression. He nodded shortly. "Thank you."  
  
"Are there any ideas about who might be responsible?" Alanna asked, instinctively touching her sheathed sword, face intense.  
  
Jardan hesitated. "No," he said, eventually. "No. But they won't remain invisible forever. And they will pay."  
  
There was a flatness, a promise, about the words that sent a small shiver snaking around Daine's spine. She didn't doubt his drive for vengeance, nor his ability to carry it out. Mithros help those who stood in his way.  
  
"That reminds me." Alanna's sudden words broke the tension so sharply that everyone jumped. "King Benjamin asked me to inform you both that he's calling a meeting at dawn tomorrow, in his quarters. After everyone's rested."  
  
"When he says dawn," Jardan added, "He really means a good hour before. His Highness prefers to meet while it's still dark. And if you can walk, you're expected to be there. In fact, as long as you're conscious, you're expected to be there, guest or no."  
  
"We'll be there," Numair asserted calmly.  
  
Daine hesitated; having only half-heard the others' discussion. "I'm sorry," she said unexpectedly, forcing her eyes to Jardan.  
  
He frowned, arrested by her obvious guilt. "For what?" His voice was, for once, completely without sarcasm.  
  
"It was my fault," she muttered. "I was useless in the battle again, and I...distracted everyone when that Blazewing, or whatever it was, hit me. If I hadn't been so careless, Sir Tremain would have been more focused, and he wouldn't have..."  
  
Jardan was shaking his head. "No. It wasn't your fault." He looked at her soberly. "That piece of scum moved like lightning. No one was expecting it. Tremain is...was a trained warrior. He had the instincts of a hawk, and if it had been possible – with or without your...distraction – to avoid that attack, he would have. It wasn't your fault," he repeated.  
  
Daine looked down at her blanket, unconvinced. Numair pulled her closer.  
  
"He's right," he said firmly, in her ear.  
  
She shook her head slightly, remembering the moment she'd been struck. The whole horrible scene played out in her mind; the sight of Tremain's shocked eyes and jerking limbs permanently lodged in her memory.  
  
"Besides, it wasn't a Blazewing that hit you," said Jardan, his face and voice grim. "It was the village idiot."  
  
Daine frowned. "What?"  
  
"Nice way to talk about your future king," Numair commented wryly, but he looked equally irritated.

Jardan snorted. "Don't remind me. This kingdom's going to the midden as it is."  
  
"Prince Braydon?" Daine clarified. "Why, in the name of the Goddess, would Braydon hit me on the head in the middle of a battle?"  
  
"Why Braydon does anything is a mystery to me," replied the other wild mage, "But in this case, he claims to have been aiming at the last Blazewing."  
  
"It was nowhere near Daine," Alanna pointed out, brows arched.  
  
"I know. But Braydon _is_ a complete sot, so who knows? Maybe he really was trying to protect king and country...and visiting wild mages."  
  
His tone suggested that it wasn't likely.  
  
Daine shrugged it off. She had more to think about than petulant princes.  
  
"I'll leave you all to your rest," Jardan said, standing up straighter and starting to walk toward the door.  
  
"Wait," she called out.  
  
He paused, sending her a questioning glance.  
  
"Thank you. For pulling me out of the way. Saving me yet again."  
  
Jardan stood impassively for a moment. Then he smiled. "You can owe it to me," he told her vaguely.  
  
He turned once more at the door. "I _am_ glad you're alright," he said, and disappeared.  
  
Daine let out a deep breath, and looked up at Numair. He was gazing at the empty doorway and frowning.  
  
She rubbed his arm, and he started, meeting her gaze.  
  
Alanna coughed.  
  
"Right," she said. "I'm going to get some sleep, and leave you two to yours. If you need me, holler. Otherwise, I'll see you in the king's quarters tomorrow morning. While it's still dark," she added, grimacing.  
  
They nodded, and she left, closing the door quietly behind her.  
  
Daine, suddenly feeling completely drained, scooted down in Numair's embrace and pressed her face against the pillow. After a moment, he shifted to join her, body folding naturally behind hers.  
  
They lay for a few minutes in silence, listening to each other breathing and drawing comfort from the sound.  
  
Then Numair spoke quietly. "You're still blaming yourself, aren't you."  
  
It wasn't a question, and Daine didn't bother to answer. His arms tightened around her.  
  
Eventually, they both fell into a troubled sleep.  
  
**......................................  
**  
Daine shivered slightly against the early morning chill, and looked around. A select group was gathered in King Benjamin and Queen Lijana's rooms, their faces collectively bleak and rather bleary-eyed.  
  
A knock sounded on the door, breaking the king from his pensive silence.  
  
"Come in!" he called sharply.  
  
Gone was the carefree, easy-going man of their arrival. In his place was a fierce warrior, haggard face lined with tension.  
  
A knight of diminutive stature entered, and bowed tensely.  
  
"Sir William," the ruler acknowledged, inclining his head in response. His question was succinct and abrupt. "How many losses?"  
  
"Fifteen squires, sire, and two knights," the other man said heavily. "Including Sir Tremain."  
  
King Benjamin closed his eyes briefly. Sir Tremain had been his boyhood friend and confidante, his most trusted ally. He nodded shortly.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
The thick silence fell again, and Daine shifted nervously.  
  
Fists clenching and unclenching, the king was clearly on edge, yet his sudden explosion of temper shocked everyone in the room.  
  
One hand hit a wooden desk with a resounding thud.  
  
"_Enough is enough!_" he bit out. "Good people are dying and the kingdom is terrified. May the gods have mercy on the soulless bastards responsible for this, because I sure as Mithros won't."  
  
Queen Lijana caught his arm, and clenched it. "We'll find them, love," she murmured, her face somber. "We _will_ find them."  
  
The Elder Lemerus spoke up, her lilting voice serious. "We need to be prepared for further attacks, Your Majesties. Unknown source aside, the power driving these creatures is...daunting. Four years ago, we were caught off-guard by only five Blazewings. Yesterday morning, we were attacked by at least thirty. The enemy's strength grows."  
  
King Benjamin turned to a trio of powerfully-built warriors. "I want troops pulled out of Aronyll and brought here at once," he ordered. "And I'll expect the Riders back here within the week."  
  
"Yes, milord."  
  
"At once, sire."  
  
The king turned to Thayet, and shook his head.  
  
"I can only offer my apologies, your Highness," he said quietly. "Had I any idea that there was such a risk, I should never have invited you. We can have your ships ready for departure by luncheon. There is no need for you to be caught up in this."  
  
Thayet met his eyes unflinchingly. "Never let it be said that Tortallians fled friends in need," she uttered. "We stay."  
  
Daine nodded in agreement, noting that her friends did the same.  
  
"This fight is no longer yours alone," Thayet spoke firmly. "And we will do whatever we can to assist you."  
  
King Benjamin inhaled deeply, then nodded. "Thank you."  
  
The door opened suddenly, and a tall figure entered, robes gently swishing the floor.  
  
"Isorus," said the king, "You're late."  
  
The Elder nodded. "My apologies, Majesty."  
  
Daine looked at him curiously. His voice sounded...strange.  
  
It was a fact that didn't escape King Benjamin either. He looked at the older man penetratingly.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
Isorus hesitated, apparently searching for the right words – or reluctant to speak them.  
  
"Isorus?" Queen Lijana asked, her face concerned, "What's the matter?"  
  
"There's been a development?" Daionarus questioned harshly, pushing forward.  
  
"Of sorts," the Elder admitted finally. "Last night," he continued slowly, "About an hour past midnight, I had a...sense that something was amiss, and was unable to sleep. So I walked the grounds, looking for any potential danger."  
  
"And?" The king's voice was intense.  
  
"There was no sign of a disturbance, sire, but I was drawn to yesterday morn's battlefield. It was there that I felt a presence."  
  
"A presence?"  
  
"Yes...I discovered a figure there, kneeling by the corpse of a Blazewing. I watched, unobserved, as this person cut a sliver of the creature's flesh, and then proceeded to drain its blood."  
  
Queen Lijana started. "_Drain its blood_...and then...?"  
  
"My vision was obscured by his cloak, milady, but he appeared to...drink it."  
  
"He?" the king asked quickly.  
  
"Yes. It was a man. When he stood up, I was able to see his face. Your Majesties, I felt I must mention this, but I also must point out that it does not have certain connection to the Blazewings."  
  
"Who was it, Isorus?" King Benjamin would not be swayed.  
  
Isorus paused again, before speaking.  
  
"Jardan. It was Jardan."


	12. Bitter Accusations

**Disclaimer**: Anything that you recognise from the Tamora Pierce books belongs to her.

**A/N**: Thank you for the reviews/comments/advice! Mel, thanks for the advice on the books. I'm getting copies of the David Eddings books from the library, they sound good! :) I'm glad people are mostly liking the story so far. I'm not liking this chapter much, so hopefully the next one will go better. If people don't have time to review, don't worry, I can't always either. Feedback's good, but I'm not going to stress too much about it! Thanks again though, to the people who did! And to everyone who's reading this (the fic, not my boring A/N!).

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Daine's body physically jerked in reaction to the Elder's words. Immediately, and unconsciously, her head began to shake.  
  
"No."  
  
She blinked, realizing she'd voiced her instinctive denial. She was not alone in her disbelief. Azassandra's cheeks slowly flushed an indignant red, and both Daionarus and Lemerus looked skeptical.  
  
The king's mouth opened. He visibly searched for words, face slack with shock. A tense silence ensued. Finally, the flabbergasted monarch seemed to gather his wits.  
  
"_What?_ I..._what_?"  
  
If not his coherency.  
  
"That's ridiculous," Daionarus stated flatly. "You must have been mistaken."  
  
The older mage shook his head, frowning. "No. I know what I saw." He looked around, meeting a multitude of shocked stares. "I'm not suggesting that Jardan, of all people, is responsible for this!" he refuted, almost defensively. "I merely felt it my duty to report what I saw as unusual behaviour."  
  
"Guzzling Blazewing blood," murmured a tall, brawny knight sardonically. "I'd call that a dashed sight more than _unusual_."  
  
"Where _is_ Jardan?" King Benjamin asked sharply. "I distinctly told him to be here."  
  
"The mare, Warrior Maid, is foaling, Majesty," Lemerus spoke up. "It is, I believe, a breech birth, and Jardan's assistance was required."  
  
Azassandra was studying her father's face, eyes teeming with incredulity. "Da, you don't actually believe that Jardan could have something to do with this! Do you?"  
  
The king met her gaze impassively. "At the very least, Aza, he has some explaining to do."  
  
Succumbing to a childish urge in her frustration, the princess stamped one resolute foot. "How can you even... You know that Jardan barely survived what happened to Kyria. What are you saying? That he manufactured her murder?"  
  
"She was not murdered," Daionarus pointed out, distractedly. "She destroyed herself."  
  
"She was murdered," Azassandra responded at once, mouth set in a grim line. "The Blazewings ruin and eventually take lives. It's murder." She paused. "Besides, Jardan was only sixteen when the first creatures attacked. He was too young."  
  
"Old enough," muttered a sour-faced woman.  
  
"He's always been a bit odd though, hasn't he?" another knight piped up hesitantly. "Reclusive little beggar, he was."  
  
Daine scowled. She couldn't believe this. She hadn't known Jardan above a week, and she knew hogwash when she heard it.  
  
Azassandra threw up her hands in disgust. "This is absurd!" She looked wildly around, and focused on the agitated Isorus. "How do you even know he's telling the truth?"  
  
There was a startled hum and several of the company tutted disapprovingly. Apparently it wasn't the done thing to suggest that Elders had nefarious motives.  
  
"Azassandra. That's enough!" Queen Lijana admonished her daughter. She sighed. "Nobody is accusing Jardan of anything." She glared around, daring opposition and looking surprisingly fierce. "We merely want to obtain his account of the night's events."  
  
King Benjamin nodded stiffly. Extending one arm, he seized a red bell-pull. Within minutes, a servant bowed his way into the room.  
  
"Your Majesty."  
  
"Fetch Master Treylrawne, Simmonds. You should find him in the stables."  
  
"Yes, milord. Without delay."  
  
The door closed behind the attendant's eager efficiency, and tension descended like a heavy cloak.  
  
"I'm sure he has a judicious explanation," Isorus garbled beneath his breath. "Yes, I'm quite sure he does."  
  
Daine exhaled in a silent sigh, turning to look at the mage by her side. Numair was apparently absorbed in a tapestry on the wall opposite. She'd seen that intense glimmer in his eyes oft enough to recognize when her love was deep in thought.  
  
Rubbing one hand over her middle, she tried to ignore the growing knot there. Apprehension was gnawing at her gut, and she switched her gaze to the open window, hoping to gain some peace from the outdoors. The sight of gathering storm clouds, however, did nothing to lessen her strange sense of fear.  
  
She rolled her eyes. Since they'd arrived in the Isles, she'd become a fair doom-monger.  
  
The door suddenly swung open, too swiftly, banging against ancient stones. With an apologetic glance at the royal family, Jardan caught it and closed it carefully. He looked up with a small polite smile, before pausing. Green eyes traveled warily from one face to another and Daine watched that familiar, hated, blankness slowly take hold.  
  
"What's happened?" he asked grimly, looking questioningly at King Benjamin.  
  
The king hesitated, all of a sudden looking twenty summers older. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. "Jardan. There's something...I'm sure there's perfectly fine reasoning behind it, but..."  
  
"Behind what?" the younger man asked impatiently, when his ruler's words tailed off. "Have you discovered something about the Blazewings?"  
  
"You tell us," a voice taunted.  
  
"_Braydon!_ Be quiet!" snapped Queen Lijana.  
  
The smirking prince began to speak again but, catching his mother's eye, had second thoughts and sank into a mulish silence.  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
Jardan's words were quiet, his eyes dangerous.  
  
Pushing away from his desk, the king straightened and, in unemotional tones, related Isorus' damning claim.  
  
For one extended moment, the room seemed to adopt the dimensions and atmosphere of a tomb. Dreading her friend's reaction, Daine involuntarily winced. Her chest moved raggedly; to breathe seemed difficult.  
  
"You think I created the Blazewings," Jardan uttered gradually, starkly. The softness of his voice was jarringly incompatible with his eyes, glittering feverishly against blanched white skin.  
  
"No..." the king began, alarmed by his countenance.  
  
"Yes." The retort hissed between clenched teeth. "_Yes_. You think I'm responsible for the scourge that _destroyed my life_!" All disbelieving restraint had vanished. Jardan was wildly, uncompromisingly, livid. And, Daine flinched, hurt to the bone. He'd been betrayed by those he respected, perhaps trusted, yet again. The anguished phrases continued, hurled out with cutting intensity. "You believe that I willfully made the _filth_ that shattered a woman yesterday, which deprived an unborn babe of its father and slaughtered our warriors where they stood. Is that what you think?"  
  
"Jardan..." Queen Lijana was horrified. She reached an imploring hand toward him, not attempting to hide the violent tremble of her fingers.  
  
"I'm not condemning you, Jardan," Isorus said, rather desperately. "I think the world of you, son, you know that. If you'll just _explain_..."  
  
Jardan's head moved back slightly. He was almost feral in his anger. One cold sweeping gaze encompassed them all.

"_Gods damn every one of you_."  
  
Turning on his heel, he stalked from the room.  
  
For some time after, the only movements in the royal quarters were the shadows teasing the floor beams.  
  
**............................................**  
  
Rolling over in bed, restless and nauseated, Daine groaned quietly. Every time she closed her eyes, Jardan's stricken face glared at her in bitter accusation. She was wracked with guilt; she couldn't even rightly define why. And a persistent voice in her head kept niggling away, prodding her to beware a danger she couldn't identify.  
  
"Odds bobs," she announced aloud, perfectly calmly. "I'm going mad."  
  
A soft snore greeted this diagnosis. Daine watched her sleeping lover somberly. She rubbed a hand over her tired dry eyes, unable to even raise a smile at his deep slumber. She wished he was awake. She needed to hear another voice. She wanted reassurance, even if it was naught but empty promises. The People seemed to be staying away, which only added to her feelings of guilt, as if they somehow blamed her for their beloved Jardan's pain. Even Zek had abandoned her, she sulked, rather unfairly. The little marmoset had taken up residence in Lady Madelyn's room, for some reason. As if drawn to the bereaved woman's desperation, he had last been seen curled around her neck. And, for the first time since her husband's death, the young widow was sleeping.  
  
Daine certainly didn't begrudge her the company – Gods knew the woman needed whatever comfort she could get – but, despite Numair's proximity, she felt oddly lonely. A heavy feeling dragged at her throat, and, to her immense disgust, she felt a fair strong inclination to cry. Shifting closer to the mage's body – curled up to accommodate the confines of her mattress – she pushed wayward curls roughly out of her face and rested her head against his belly. His skin was smooth and warm, and the gently lifting rhythm of his breathing soothed her. She lay as quietly as possible, willing sleep to take her quickly.  
  
An hour later, she was still wakeful, and growing increasingly frustrated.  
  
Forehead creased in a frown, Daine jumped when long fingers moved to stroke the lines away. She turned over and unhappily returned Numair's sleepy smile. Running a hand through his loose hair, he sat up slightly, looking at her with concern.  
  
"You look awfully troubled, sweetling," he commented huskily. Gently encircling her arm with one hand, he tugged her toward him. She didn't resist, nestling close and rubbing her cheek against his neck. He smiled against the tickle of her hair and bent his head to see her better. "Is it Jardan?" he asked, his voice serious.  
  
He felt, rather than saw, her shrug. "Partly," she mumbled, lips brushing his jaw. Numair tightened his hold briefly at the touch, then forced himself to relax.  
  
"It was appalling," he acknowledged. "But he'll be alright, magelet. He's strong. He must be, to have pulled through what happened."  
  
Daine remained silent for a moment. Then she twisted slightly in his embrace, and met his gaze. "Numair, what do you think of love?"  
  
"Love?" he asked, yet he didn't seem surprised by the question.  
  
"Mmm," she muttered, breaking eye contact and burrowing back into his arms. She barely breathed as she waited for his answer.  
  
It was a long time in coming.  
  
"I think," he said, finally, "That there are some things even beyond the explanation of mages." He sighed. "I don't why we love, sweet, or what it means exactly. But I do know how powerful it is."  
  
"Even more powerful than black robe magic?" Daine teased, amusement lightly touching her face.  
  
He tugged playfully on one curl, winding it round his finger. "Well, maybe not greater than _my _Gift, but still pretty potent," he conceded, smiling wickedly.  
  
"D'you think love is bad? Destructive?" The words came out in a rush. She had to ask.  
  
He sobered, and watched her for long minutes. Then he shook his head firmly. "No. I don't...I think love heals; it makes people stronger. It doesn't tear them down and destroy them. Hate does that; revenge, anger, bitterness, maybe. Not love. Even if it's betrayed, or not reciprocated, the knowledge that you were capable of that kind of feeling, that total faith in another being, is still there. It's what makes you alive and, if not wholly content and complete, at least as close as it's possible to be." He broke off and shrugged rather self-consciously, a tinge of red rising in his face. "Although I'm hardly the reigning authority on love. Mithros knows, I've had my fair share of cynicism."

He met her gaze. "You're the most important part of my life, magelet, and you make all the other madness worthwhile. And it's more than enough."  
  
Daine was speechless. Numair was not one for long declarations of love, and she'd never heard him talk like that before. Ever.  
  
Smiling slightly tremulously, she reached out to touch his cheek. "How'd _you_ get so smart?" she asked, fighting for flippancy, terrified she might cry.  
  
"Naturally brilliant, I've been told," he quipped, settling back against the pillows.  
  
She lay still for a moment.  
  
"I love you." Her voice was muted, but sincere.  
  
"I love you too." He dropped a light kiss on her lips, then paused. "But if you keep me awake much longer, I may become less enamored."  
  
Daine poked him hard in the ribs, and giggled.  
  
"Go to sleep, Numair."  
  
**............................................**  
  
Some time later, she was still wide awake, but feeling a lot happier.  
  
Vows of devotion did that for a person.  
  
Gently easing out from Numair's arms, she padded softly to the window, hoping the fresh air would make her sleepy. Leaning on the sill, she peered out. The light breeze on her face was warm, but the sky still looked ominous. Unlike the previous clear, starry nights, thick clouds knotted together, hanging low. Daine instinctively scanned the horizon, searching for moving shapes. After her previous experiences in the Isles, she was paranoid about shadows in flight. A movement caught her eye, and she frowned, squinting. Recognition was quickly joined by concern. The falcon soaring into the distance was emanating a very familiar glow. She didn't know what Jardan was up to, but acted on instinct. Climbing onto the stone ledge, she eased out the opening, and paused to collect herself. Then, in one swift motion, she pushed off from the wall and leapt into nothing.  
  
A sudden flash of lightning lit the silhouette of a second falcon as it swooped to join the first.


	13. Caving In

**Disclaimer:** Anything that you recognise from the Tamora Pierce books belongs to her.

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who's been sticking with this story, and especially for the reviews. The advice is great, and lots of them have been really encouraging. Longer chapter this time. If anyone isn't a member of The Dancing Dove, I recommend going to have a look. (URL on my profile, if anyone's interested). I just joined, and it's great. Lots of D/N obsessed people and links to great fanfics.

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Had she been in human form, Daine would have been groaning aloud by now. As it was, she settled for a series of annoyed trills. After following Jardan's wildly weaving shape for nigh on an hour, she was beginning to doubt that he had any particular destination in mind, at all. Rather, he seemed content to risk life and wing by gallivanting about the sky in a manner that, if she didn't know how upset he must be, would seem almost playful.  
  
A blur barrel-rolled directly in her path, and Daine swooped awkwardly to one side with a silent curse. Night-flying could be fair soothing on a troubled mind, she knew that from experience, but she wasn't quite so rapt about it in the middle of a thunderstorm. Her curiosity over Jardan's behaviour had, as water continued to pelt her drenched body, rapidly denigrated into shivering misery.  
  
It didn't help that he seemed determined to ignore her presence. He'd offered one withering glare through beady eyes, before firmly rebuffing each of her attempts at conversation. Finally, cold and irritated, she'd retreated into a brooding silence. If he was set on sulking, she thought she might as well join him.  
  
Ducking her head against the onslaught of wind, she sighed inwardly. Hopefully Numair would sleep until dawn. She knew how worried he'd be, should he wake to find her gone. And he'd be a lot more than _worried_, she admitted with a flicker of unease, if he discovered _where_ she'd gone.  
  
Another lightning fork shattered the skyline, briefly blinding Daine to her surroundings. When her vision cleared once more, Jardan was gone. Taken aback, she soared in a slow scrutinizing circle, searching out the errant falcon. When she spotted nothing more than rain and mist, an aggravated screech tore free of her lungs.  
  
She was just contemplating giving up on the moody mage and heading back to Numair's warm arms – which seemed more inviting with each passing, dripping second – when Daine noticed a wink of movement far below.  
  
Without hesitation, she dove after Jardan's gliding form.  
  
As she emerged from heavy cloud, it struck her that the terrain had changed radically. Far from the lush greenery of the palace grounds, the landscape before her was craggy and dark. Marshlands oozed into black rock and barren mountains. The air was sharp – so crisp that even light breaths seemed to rupture. The whole scene was oddly still and deserted; try as she might, she couldn't discern voices of the People. It was disconcerting, and she fought the urge to flee.  
  
Gaze darting to the right, Daine caught sight of Jardan's vanishing feathers as he merged into the shadows of an overhanging crag. She flapped cautiously closer, scanning the area for danger. He had disappeared through the entrance of a murky cavern, and she wasn't particularly enthusiastic about following. Not that she suspected him of anything wicked, but it was chilling enough out of doors without venturing into strange spaces.  
  
A flicker of amusement penetrated Daine's mind. She'd grasped at least one of Numair's early lectures on keeping safe, then. Still, that particular homily – about steering clear of places where rats wouldn't care to venture – was going to have pass unheeded. She refused to leave Jardan, alone and hurting, in some dank cave.  
  
Bolstering her spirits, she sailed into the nook's yawning mouth and, on finding the space empty, followed a winding passage. Eventually she alighted on a jutting ledge, and looked around in surprise. Contrary to expectations, the belly of the mountain was warm and snug. Almost...homey, actually.  
  
Further perusal heightened her wonder. Clearly Jardan – or someone – made a practice of coming here. Eyes flickering against the darkness, Daine noted an unlit torch propped against protruding rock. A pile of rugs was heaped in one corner, and a thick layer of straw covered the floor invitingly.  
  
She began to feel a little guilty. Obviously this was Jardan's place of solitude and, rather than a concerned friend, she felt like an intruder. She tensed, ready to leave her perch.  
  
"Going somewhere?"  
  
She started, wings jerking, as Jardan strolled from behind a stone panel.  
  
The fact that he had resumed human form registered first. The realization of how much – or rather, how little – he was wearing closely followed.  
  
Muscles played across his bare chest as he tightened the knot of a blanket. The rough wool rested low on lean hips, and appeared in peril of slipping at one swift movement. Daine looked quickly away, embarrassed.  
  
"Stop fearing for your virtue. I'm far too wet and miserable to ravish priggish wild mages just now. Besides, it might be rather uncomfortable with your talons in the way."  
  
Ignoring that, she moved to meet his steady gaze. The laconic drawling voice sounded surprisingly normal. Mocking and derisive, of course, but that was common enough for Jardan. In fact, he appeared to be completely composed. Hardly the devastated, angry wreck she'd dreaded finding.  
  
_'Are you alright?'_ she asked, searching his face with concerned eyes.  
  
He snorted loudly in reply. "Asking after my welfare before the interrogation begins? Very heart-warming."  
  
_'Interrogation?'_ Daine repeated, genuinely puzzled.  
  
"You hoped to catch me in the act, yes? Assembling Blazewings, dicing flesh, swigging blood, generally reveling in my evilness?"  
  
She scowled and waved a wing in dismissal. _'Don't be a half-wit, Jardan. Are you alright or not?'  
  
_Impatience was leaking into her tone, rapidly replacing concern.  
  
"Did the king send you?"  
  
_'Rather swelled in our own importance, aren't we?'_ she retorted._ 'I was still awake, and I saw you, and I was worried. That's all. I'm beginning to think I shouldn't have bothered.'_  
  
She waited for a sarcastic response and, when none was forthcoming, turned to face him again.  
  
He was looking at her strangely.  
  
"You really came after me because you were...worried?"  
  
Skepticism liberally laced his voice.  
  
_'Believe me, it seems astonishing to me too now,'_ Daine snapped back, peevishly ruffling her feathers.  
  
There was a brief silence, then, in a slightly altered timbre, Jardan quietly spoke again. "There's a robe behind that rock over there. It used to fit me, but it's much too small now. You can change into it if you like. Get warm."  
  
A little disconcerted by the cave's improbably domestic atmosphere, she hesitated.  
  
The other mage rolled his eyes. "You think_ I_ have a high opinion of myself?" he taunted, sounding much more his usual sardonic self. "I promise, I won't salivate with lust at the sight of your bare feet."  
  
Shooting him the vilest look she could manage, Daine conceded and flitted behind the panel. The robe sailed in her wake, almost smothering her in its thickly woven folds. In the flash of a second, feathered body became long bare limbs, and she bent, naked, to scoop the mantle from the ground. Shaking it free of straw, she drew it around her shaking figure. Although it was infinitely warmer inside than out, it was still no place for frolicking about in the buff.  
  
Stepping out from her rocky shelter, she raised an eyebrow at Jardan. He was kneeling on the floor, using a large flat stone to strike sparks off the wall. Daine watched, interested, as he managed to set a small pile of straw aflame and use it to light the wall-torch.  
  
"It's at times like these," he commented, stretching, "That it would be useful to have the Gift."  
  
She nodded appreciably, looking around with renewed curiosity.  
  
"You're well set up here," she remarked, then cast him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry if I'm intruding."  
  
One shoulder lifted almost carelessly. "I haven't been here for years." He paused. "Four, actually."  
  
Daine caught on instantly and stared at him, horrified. "You mean this was a special place for you and Kyria? Jardan, I'm sorry...I shouldn't have come here. I'm sorry."  
  
He shook his head, dismissing her remorse. "I'm not going to break down in tears because you're standing here, and not her. Maybe I would have been such a sentimental fool once, but not now."  
  
The words of an embittered lover; he uttered them almost peacefully. That was perhaps what bothered Daine the most.  
  
"Tell me about her?"  
  
The request was heart-felt and instinctive. She winced as soon as it left her lips, anticipating a negative response, but couldn't regret asking. Her desire to know his past had nothing to do with a hunger for gossip, and everything to do with a need to understand him better.  
  
Lowering himself slowly back to the ground, Jardan leaned against a wall. A heavy silence fell, and Daine carefully crouched also, resting on her haunches and watching his face.  
  
Finally, he drew in a deep breath and let it out in a painful, gusty sigh. His eyes were fixed on the straw-strewn floor.  
  
"We met when we were fifteen. I lived in the palace, and she worked for a farmer. He gave her food and board in return for help with the milking."  
  
"What about her parents? And yours?" Daine asked quietly, reluctant to pry.  
  
"Kyria was a foundling child. She grew up being passed around from family to family. Either nobody knew of her parents' identity, or they weren't prepared to tell. The community decided to raise her collectively. They all loved her. She...was easy to love." He twirled a thistle between long fingers, frowning a little. "I was born in Raillenden, at an estate near the palace. My Da...he was a powerful mage. His Gift was notable and he wasn't too impressed being saddled with an ordinary son. Wild magic wasn't recognized, so I was just...odd. Preferring the company of animals to people."  
  
She nodded unconsciously. Gods knew, she could understand that kind of isolation.  
  
"I was an embarrassment to him," Jardan continued, without any evident regret or blame. "Eventually he'd had enough."  
  
"What do you mean, 'he'd had enough'?" she asked, brow creased.  
  
His lips quirked humorlessly. "He secured passage on a ship out of Raillenden and departed for new horizons. Better and grander things."  
  
"He just..._abandoned _you there?"  
  
"Not entirely. He left me on the doorstep of the palace."  
  
Daine was outraged. "And never came back? Or left word? Nothing?"  
  
"Well, to be fair to the old man, he did leave a note pinned to my shirt."  
  
"That said _what_?"  
  
"Sell him for war rations."  
  
"_What?_"  
  
Jardan cracked a smile. "Jesting. I don't know. Requesting that they take me in, I suppose. My father was an advisor to King Benjamin. He knew I'd be well taken care of. It wasn't complete desertion."  
  
"Yes, it was," she said bluntly. "How old were you?"  
  
"Six."  
  
Daine shook her head. "Bastard."  
  
He laughed out loud this time, creases of amusement lighting his face. "Alright, I confess my thoughts have often taken a similar path."  
  
"What about your Ma?" she asked, an image of Sarra's gentle face fixed in her mind. "Why didn't she look after you?"  
  
"She died when I was a few months old. Infection from the birthing, I think."  
  
"Maybe your father was resentful about his lost love, and punished you for it," Daine suggested, rather doubtfully.  
  
"The only thing my Da loved was his tankard of ale." Jardan shook his head. "I doubt if he mourned her for long. He was very popular with the ladies of court."  
  
Her eyes rolled in irritation. "Men."  
  
"Yes, we're a revolting bunch," he agreed lightly.  
  
"So after he left, you moved into the palace."  
  
"The king and queen never hesitated in taking me in. They're good people." For the first time, a shadow touched his expression. Then he carefully resumed the familiar smooth mask. "My first nine years there were pretty uneventful. I spent a lot of time in the stables and the woods. Beating up Braydon when necessary."  
  
She smiled faintly. "I wouldn't blame you if you still did that."  
  
"As much as it pains me to admit it, it's usually best to steer clear of him now. He's turned into a surprisingly capable fighter. All skill and no morals. It's a lethal combination."  
  
At her look of surprise, he nodded ruefully. "Thought he was just a pampered prince? He is, to a large extent, but he's had to compensate for a lack of Gift."  
  
"He doesn't have the Gift?"  
  
"No trace of it whatsoever. The magical sphere still rejoices."  
  
Daine giggled, before regarding him thoughtfully. "Did Kyria have the Gift?"  
  
She wasn't even sure what her motives were in asking, but the question slipped out.  
  
Jardan looked slightly taken aback, then shook his head 'no'. "She didn't have the Gift, wild magic, the Sight. Not that it seemed to bother her in the least. And it was...refreshing, actually, growing close to someone who wasn't preoccupied with their Gift. I'd had enough of ability braggarts at the palace."  
  
Nodding, Daine hesitantly continued: "Where did you two meet?"  
  
She felt like a gossip, but it seemed inexplicably...necessary to ask. As if it would be here in this cave that part of the enigma was revealed or nowhere at all.  
  
Jardan's arms folded - almost instinctively, it seemed – at his chest. She thought she heard a faint curse; then he struggled on. "I was walking near her village one day, when I heard screams. When I went to see what was going on, there was this girl. Two men were holding her arms, and she was struggling."  
  
"So you heroically charged in and thrashed them?" she suggested, settling herself more comfortably. The cavern was dim, and she watched as firelight teased the walls and sparked tiny flames in Jardan's green eyes.  
  
"Of course," he agreed stoutly, as if there were no question about it. "But the men turned out to be the old farmer and his even more elderly brother. And she wasn't struggling. They were trying to teach her how to dance, for the Midsummer ball."  
  
"Jardan!" she exclaimed, biting back a smile.  
  
"It was dusk!" he defended himself. "I didn't see how old they were until...well, they were on the ground. But," he hurried on quickly, seeing her mouth opening again. "I paid for it anyway." He shook his head in admiration. "After she finished walloping me, she practically carried both men into their cottage single-handedly."  
  
Daine laughed. "And you fell in love with her," she guessed.  
  
At Jardan's scornful grunt, she merely smiled, unperturbed.  
  
"Yes, I did," he said finally, self-mockery rife in the words. "I went back to her home every day for a week, until I convinced her to forgive me. It took another three weeks after that before she'd let me court her."  
  
He tossed the mangled thistle back to the straw and rubbed the back of his neck.  
  
"We were together for a year after that. I fell more in love with her every day, and I thought I'd finally found it – whatever it is that we search for in life. I didn't know that much about women." He looked at her wryly. "Still don't. But I'd grown up watching my father with this menagerie of cosseted beauties, and I thought that's what everyone meant by love. Lust, prestige, reputation." He continued to speak, almost babbling. "Kyria just blew every belief I had out of the water. She was this tiny powerhouse who could charm people into doing anything for their own good. And she genuinely seemed to care. It didn't matter if she knew a person, if she liked them or not, she wanted what was best for them. I'd never met anyone like her."  
  
Daine was mesmerized by the animation of his handsome face. For once, Jardan wasn't hiding behind bitterness and disdain, and the effect was striking. She held her breath, not wanting to break the spell – suspecting that if he became aware of his frankness, he would promptly retreat.  
  
"For the first time in my life, it felt as if I had someone who was mine alone." His eyes focused on Daine, and he grinned spontaneously. "Irrational and possessive though that is, I couldn't help feeling that way. But she would have been the first to clobber me if I'd dared say it aloud."  
  
She grinned back. When Jardan smiled – really smiled – it was completely infectious.  
  
"I think I would have liked Kyria," she said truthfully.  
  
He considered her for a moment. "She would have liked you too."  
  
In the next instant, his face began to sober and close off. Daine's belly sank. Having been offered a brief glimpse of what she was convinced was the other wild mage's true nature, it was almost painful to see it snatched back behind barriers.  
  
"It isn't that I believed her to be faultless," he reasoned slowly, "I lived with her; I knew better than anyone her weaknesses. But I thought a quick temper was the worst of Kyria's vices. I didn't realize...There's a small part of every being, no matter how gallant or good or pious they may appear, that's pure malevolent selfishness."  
  
He looked into the fiery torch; eyes tarnished a burnt amber in its glow. Fingers of misgiving began to inch down Daine's throat.  
  
"That seed of maliciousness is present somewhere in all of us," he continued harshly, "And it's that which the Blazewings feed on. If they bite you, their venom takes that evil and carries it throughout. It festers and grows, until the body is nothing more than a useless shell, rotting on the inside." He met Daine's gaze once more, and she flinched in reaction. "The Blazewings attacked on a Midsummer morning, a couple of days before we were to be wed. There weren't many of them – five, no more than six. The fighting only lasted a short time, and there didn't seem to be any casualties." His jaw clenched. "Kyria was bitten by one of the creatures before it died, but she didn't tell anyone. It wasn't a bad wound, and she probably thought nothing of it. It wasn't until three days later that it became brutally apparent to one and all."  
  
"Three days later?" Daine asked, her voice a cracked whisper.  
  
"For three days, the...victim of a Blazewing bite appears as normal. There are no outward signs other than the lesion, and that never shows infection itself. After that, the fall is inevitable."  
  
"Nu- " She cleared her throat. "Numair told me that victims turn on people they love. Did she..."  
  
She couldn't go on. Jardan's laughter was abrasive. "Attempt to kill me? Of course. It wasn't because of any mercy on her part that I survived. Yes, she was particularly delighted to flaunt my love for her. But I wasn't the only object of her attentions, and I fared better than many. Kyria slaughtered almost twenty people before the end."  
  
Daine's face was deathly pale. She wanted to reach out for him, but knew he'd reject any offers of comfort.  
  
"The end? Did someone..."  
  
"No. Eventually the poison loses its potency but the body is too weak to go on. The last ten seconds of the victims' life is the worst." He blanched against an onslaught of memories. "The swine who created the gods-forsaken brutes really outdid themselves there. When the curse wears off completely, the person is themselves again, the way they once were, for just ten seconds before death. Ten miserably long seconds to become aware of what they've done."  
  
She sat frozen, her limbs numb. There was something in his voice, something beyond the devastation of his love...  
  
"Did she...hurt someone you loved?"  
  
He jerked to his feet, obviously restless. A loud stream of expletives left his mouth and he glanced her way angrily. The words came fast and abrupt. "We'd never thought about children. We were only sixteen. I suppose, in the back of my mind, I accepted that they'd come along at some time in the future, but we hadn't made plans. Then the king sent us as part of a diplomatic mission to Aronyll and, while we were there, we found Minna. She was this little scrap in a home for urchins; giant eyes, missing teeth, messy braids. Kyria and Minna took one look at each other, I think, and instantly loved. Before we came home, it was decided that Minna would come to Raillenden in the summer." He bit his lip. "I remember Kyria saying that we none of us had a family, so we would have to band together and create our own."  
  
Daine's lips were pressed together and her gaze fixed on her feet. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear the rest.  
  
"Anyway," Jardan continued painfully. "We got home, and a couple of months later the Blazewing attack happened. And...I forgot. I forgot about Minna. I should have cancelled her passage, but I didn't and a nurse brought her here. To the house I shared with Kyria." Swallowing, he shut tormented eyes. "As soon as I heard she'd arrived, I went there. But I was too late. Kyria had gotten there first."  
  
He looked up, piercing her with one agonized look.  
  
"Minna was beaten and abandoned as a baby. We were the only people in the world she trusted."  
  
Her mouth opened and shut several times. There was absolutely nothing to say. Nothing to ease his pain, to heal the horror.  
  
They sat in torrid silence for a long time.  
  
Finally, Jardan began to slowly stir, moving as if he'd aged fifty years.  
  
"We should head back. It'll be morning soon."  
  
She nodded, head heavy.  
  
"Besides, they've probably organized a mage-hunt by now."  
  
"Nobody actually believes you're responsible, Jardan," Daine said, frowning.  
  
"Want to wager on that?"  
  
"Alright, maybe this'll be fodder for the palace gossips for a day or two, but nobody who cares about you will believe it. Queen Lijana didn't, nor did Azassandra or Daionarus or Lemerus."  
  
"And the king?"  
  
"His friend was just killed. He's emotional. If he was thinking straight, he wouldn't dwell on it for a moment. I think even Isorus just wanted an explanation." Daine paused, not wanting to antagonize him further. "What do you think it was, anyway? An imposter or a simulacrum?"  
  
"Neither. It was me." He intercepted her startled glance, and sighed impatiently. "I was taking samples of flesh and blood to examine them. I was hoping I'd find a clue to the creator."  
  
"And did you?"  
  
"Not as yet."  
  
"And...the blood-drinking?"  
  
She was unable to keep her nose from wrinkling.  
  
"First of all, that's disgusting. And secondly; had you been born in the Isles, you would be well aware that Isorus is a brilliant mage but has appalling eyesight. There's a popular fable about the scar on his neck. Apparently, as a child, he once mistook a griffin for his mother." The wild mage shook his head, irritated. "I was not _drinking_ it. I was looking at it. Possibly the vial was somewhere in the vicinity of my mouth..."  
  
Before Daine could formulate a reply, the solid rock beneath her feet began to tremble slightly, and she looked around in consternation.  
  
"_What in the name of Shakith is that..._"  
  
All of a sudden, the interior of the cave was thrown into brilliant illumination. Dazzling shades of red, blue and green skidded along rock, ledge and the planes of Jardan's surprised face.  
  
Spinning around, Daine automatically groped for her bow, cursing when she encountered nothing but the coarse material of Jardan's robe.  
  
A roaring sound began, steadily increasing in volume until she was forced to clap both palms over her ears.  
  
"What is it?" she shouted over the monstrous din, unsure if the noise was in the cave or her mind.  
  
One hand pressed to the side of his skull, Jardan pointed to her left. "There!"  
  
She followed the direction of his finger and shifted one hand to shield her eyes against blazing light.  
  
"What's down there?" she yelled.  
  
"It's the way to the catacombs. But it's been closed off for years."  
  
"Sure about that, are you?"  
  
He reached for her arm.  
  
"I guess there's only one way to find out!"


	14. In the Catacombs

**Disclaimer**: Anything that you recognise from the Tamora Pierce books belongs to her.

**A/N**: Lol, ok, so it seems no one has a problem with the longer chapters. I didn't want them to become tedious or anything. This one is a similar length to the last one, but from now on, they'll probably be a bit shorter, sorry. It just makes it easier to update, timewise.

Thank you heaps to the people who reviewed the last chapter: AnnaWeb, Gladiel, Elementalmoon, DramaQn621, Equestrian-babe101, dream of falling, Fantasizing-Lady-Knight, Lady Aioria, Narm's Briton 44, Hidden Relevance, spanielgirl, DestinyHunter, Whisper, Ami4, Aindel S. Druida, KelDomForever, alianne of conte, asdf, surfergurl16, cutwing, Stefen and Girlfromtheshadows. I really hope I got everyone there! If not, I'm sorry and I did appreciate your review, despite not acknowledging you! Girlfromtheshadows and KelDomForever, I loved reading your fics.

Some fluff in this chapter, and more to come. :)

**.................................................................**

"I can't believe I'm going down into the catacombs wearing a _blanket_. An extremely ill-fitting blanket."  
  
Jardan's mutter floated up to Daine over the rumbling clamour. Looking awkwardly over her shoulder, she peered down at him.  
  
"_Why_ couldn't we shape-shift exactly?"  
  
They were descending roughly etched steps in a very narrow, very dank tunnel and every time her hands slipped on loose shale, she regretted leaving her warm bed – and warmer love – even more. Adventure or no, important or otherwise, clambering about an underground graveyard in the small hours of the morn was not her idea of an enjoyable time.  
  
"I don't think it would be a good idea. Trust me." Jardan lost his grip, slid a few muddy yards, and cursed loudly.  
  
"Trust you," Daine repeated musingly. "Yes..."  
  
She heard a faint_ thud_ as Jardan's feet finally hit solid ground. Then strong hands clasped her ankles, guiding her over the last rungs. She jumped down, straightened, and peered into the gloom. Faint light still touched the walls, but its vivid intensity had dwindled. If only that infernal roar would do the same, she thought irritably, rubbing one ear.  
  
Then the odor hit, and all other annoyances vanished.  
  
"_Goddess_...what is that _stench_?"  
  
White teeth flashed briefly as her companion grinned. "That, milady, is the alluring scent of rotting bodies."  
  
Coughing out the putrid air, Daine wondered where he found the gall to be amused. Mithros, she could barely _breathe_!  
  
"Aren't they buried?" she gasped out, squinting around warily.  
  
Jardan, brows knit, tightened his scant covering once more. Despite his previous nonchalance, he looked a little...green. "There was civil warfare in the Isles about ten years ago. I think that's the last time the catacombs were used. The older graves are covered, but there were so many losses that the warriors just stacked corpses and boarded up the entrance. You've been warned."  
  
"Wondrous," she mumbled ironically.  
  
Straining to see clearly, he moved in a slow circle. "Here!" he spoke up at last, stepping forward to touch a smooth panel in the rock wall. Carefully running large palms over the beam, he searched for fastenings.  
  
"Is it charmed?" Daine asked, frowning as the other mage began to back up.  
  
Suddenly he launched forward, slamming one muscular shoulder into the barrier. The wood shattered and gave way, and Jardan disappeared into the cavity.  
  
"Apparently not," she conceded, following gingerly.  
  
Beyond the blockade, the noise was more forceful - as, unfortunately, was the smell.  
  
Face scrunched up, Daine gazed about in horrified fascination. She always found grave-sites a little eerie, but the catacombs were fair sinister. Dark and damp, the dripping recesses housed the dead, yet there was a sense of something oddly _alive_...  
  
Jardan's voice broke into her apprehensive thoughts. "Feel like taking another boat ride?"  
  
Turning questioningly, speech stumbled in her throat. Then she groaned. A tapered canal led out of their cavern, murky surface cradling a moored vessel.  
  
Well. "Vessel" might be too optimistic a description.  
  
She looked closer.  
  
"That isn't a boat," she contradicted flatly. "It looks like half an ale barrel."  
  
Kneeling by the floating keg, Jardan cast a doubtful look over its interior. "It is. I think it'll stay afloat. But I wouldn't want to gamble on that." He shrugged. "Still, we don't have a choice; there's no other way in. And I want to know what's going on down here. If it's something to do with the Blazewings, it's the only lead we have and I _need_ to know."  
  
The simple truth behind his words conquered any objections Daine might have had.  
  
Nodding, she moved behind him, wondering if it was possible to embark without actually touching the mortal realm's most revolting water.  
  
At the same time, Jardan stood and swung around. A haze passed Daine's vision, pain burst in her left eye and she stumbled back. Plastering one hand to her face, she couldn't restrain an aggrieved cry.  
  
"_Shakith!_ Sorry, Daine! Are you alright?"  
  
Blinking through rapidly streaming lashes, she nodded jerkily. "Yes. Fine. Did you just hit me?" she asked belatedly.  
  
"Your eye got in the way of my elbow. Sorry."  
  
He was clutching her arms with both hands, peering worriedly into her face.  
  
Daine gently disengaged his hold and swiped a sleeve over her wet cheek. "I've had much worse. I'll survive," she assured him.  
  
"Sure?"  
  
He still looked aghast, she realized. Apparently Jardan didn't make a habit of striking women.  
  
"Yes. Let's go." She nodded at him reassuringly, ignoring the sting and spill of fresh tears.  
  
Surging forward, she tried to appear purposeful and confident. Her clumsy scramble into the barrel marred the effect somewhat. It rocked violently at her efforts and she bit her lip. Gods, she detested water-travel. In that respect, she'd discovered a new kinship with Alanna.  
  
Jardan's expression was a blend of curiosity, fear and residual concern. Darting a last glance her way, he crouched and slid into the craft. Much more gracefully than she had done so, Daine noted. Uncomfortably folding and unfolding long legs, he untied the mooring rope and pushed off from the side.  
  
They lurched onward with a swift jolt, and Daine grabbed for the nearest hold.  
  
Which happened to be a sturdy male torso.  
  
"Sorry," she apologized, releasing him quickly.  
  
"Better that than have you falling over the side," he returned. "I don't want to know what's in this water." Then he turned to look at her slyly. "Besides, I know you can't keep your hands off me. Far be it for me to deny you the pleasure."  
  
She rolled her eyes, not gracing that with a reply.  
  
The current pushed them rapidly on, hurtling into the catacombs' depths. They passed through a tunnel, and Daine watched as pinpoints of colour pierced the darkness. She tried to sit still, fists tightly clenched, but couldn't cease fidgeting. The wood beneath her flesh felt thin and flimsy, creaking and swaying with the water's rhythm. And her eye hurt.  
  
_'I wish Numair was here.'_ The irrational words circled her consciousness over and over.  
  
Another thought broke through.  
  
"How are we going to get back out?" she asked, alarmed.  
  
Jardan's voice floated back, wraithlike, in the void.  
  
"The boat system is designed to complete a circuit. Once we get out, it'll come back around eventually."  
  
She was sure that the words "_I hope_" lingered in the air.  
  
The tunnel ended abruptly, startling them both as the world exploded into light. She flung up a hand against the sudden onslaught of luster and colour. Luminous shades lit dark crevasses and craggy alcoves, violently eclipsing what had come before. The thunderous braying also rose in pitch, wailing like an aggravated Siren.  
  
Jardan's hand shot out, gripping the embankment and wrenching them to a halt. His face was inclined toward her, lips moving, but she couldn't hear a word. Eventually, frustrated, he pointed urgently. Shifting to see, she followed his gaze and her uninjured eye narrowed speculatively.  
  
Set into the rock face, a number of openings led into snaking warrens. Their route was clear - the entrance farthest to the left was ardently aglow with magic, almost painfully blinding.  
  
Jardan strained to steady the barrel as she climbed out.  
  
And promptly tripped over a dislocated skeleton.  
  
"Odds bobs!"  
  
"Daine."  
  
His voice, edgy and labored, cut across the din.  
  
Muttering an apology, she knelt to help him, seizing the wooden planks and clutching hard against the water's tug. He lunged out, pushing away from the base. The action tore the "boat" from Daine's grasp; the current whisking it victoriously away.  
  
The momentum almost did the same with Jardan's blanket and he grasped it hastily, swearing.  
  
"If Numair were here, he could scry for mage-magic," she murmured, eying the opening guardedly.  
  
He shot her a look, waving a hand over his bare chest. "If Salmalin was here, I'd no doubt have a bloodied nose by now."  
  
Bowed against the glare, they picked their way through haphazardly scattered bones toward the blazing threshold.  
  
Inside, they hadn't gone more than a few yards when Jardan stopped, head cocked.  
  
She looked at him enquiringly.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
The question was nothing short of a bellow. The noise in the caverns defied mortal belief.  
  
"Take my hand."  
  
His response was unexpected and Daine glared suspiciously.  
  
"_Take it!_"  
  
There was no mistaking the urgency this time. Frowning, she reached out and wrapped her fingers around his. They were warm, blunt and surprisingly reassuring.  
  
The further they traveled, the faster Jardan walked. The passageway was constricted and winding, labyrinth-like, yet his stride never faltered. In contrast, Daine's trepidation grew with each passing step.  
  
Yet she was convinced that whatever lay ahead related to the Blazewings, and shared his resolve to uncover it.  
  
Finally, the trail widened and a sharp turn emerged ahead, new sounds drifting from the chamber beyond. Deep resonant tones – those of a human male – mingled melodiously with the heavy rumble.  
  
Unaware of Jardan's hesitation, she marched forward, fired with new determination.  
  
Almost instantly, bolts of power struck her like a physical blow. Pain hummed through her head, spindled around and exploded in screaming agony.  
  
It was brutally familiar.  
  
Recognizing the signature of the Blazewings at once, her rebuttal was instinctive. She delved within, fighting viciously against the torturous intrusion. Heavy force flowed through Jardan's palm, and tendrils of their wild magic wove and welded together. The additional strength was like a rejuvenating kick, and Daine's muscles slowly relaxed. Able to breathe easily once more, she sent the mage a grateful look.  
  
Pulling her close to his side, Jardan edged her behind him as they crept forward. She didn't appreciate the chivalrous gesture and tried to nudge him out of the way. Resolute, he swatted her back again, face set like gouged stone.  
  
The absurdity of their churlish behaviour hit them both at the same time. Exchanging rueful glances, they crept – together - to peer silently around the angled wall.  
  
Daine crouched, craned her neck - and the air hitched in her lungs. Her view was partially obscured by the partition but, regardless, she could clearly see the figure standing within.  
  
Hands rigid at his sides, fingers curled into hooked claws, the man's head was tilted toward the ceiling, the tendons in his throat strained and quivering. White beams sliced through his body, bouncing around the alcove and off a multitude of colored orbs. Reflecting their sheen, the memorably ashen shade of his Gift was mottled, distorted. Magically amplified, jaw- jarringly potent, the illusive power skated across the faces of the watching spies and slunk throughout the mountain.  
  
The mage's limbs shook ferociously as power continued to dissect him, entwine him, infuse him. His lips caressed the words of a chant; his very skin seemed to crawl with the pulse of the incantation.  
  
Recognition could not come without betrayal. It burned like dragon fire, and Daine could only envisage how Jardan must be feeling. The traitor before them was the root of his suffering, the means of his loss.  
  
He was his friend.  
  
Daionarus.  
  
Rage pooled in her belly and leached into her heart. She couldn't restrain an animalistic growl, the warning purr of a predator. Still stooped on the ground, she tensed, ready to pounce, attack, _avenge_.  
  
Jardan had to band both arms across her chest to hold her back.  
  
"Leave off!" she hissed, shoving at him. "Don't you understand? He's responsible for all of this! We have to go in there!"  
  
"No. We don't." He was rigidly white, eyes huge and black. Desolate.  
  
"Why not?" she burst out, yanking away.  
  
"Because we'll die!"  
  
He was already hauling her back the way they'd come, but the tormented reply burst free and echoed cruelly.  
  
They froze.  
  
Slowly, hideously so, Daine ventured a peek at Daionarus.  
  
Her worst fears were confirmed. Undulating with his multihued Gift, the Elder had pivoted to stare in their direction.  
  
Then, for the first time, she noticed.  
  
His imperial face – so incongruously noble – was absent of the patches, the dense strips that screened his supposedly sightless eyes.  
  
Those soulless cavities bored into her, literally ablaze. Raging flames billowed from cold ebony. The molten fire seemed to burn from within, twisting in feverish madness.  
  
The eyes of a Blazewing.  
  
Chilled, as if her skin were latticed in ice, Daine dropped a hand to her chest, tracing the Sign against evil.  
  
Whether Daionarus saw them or not, she didn't know, but Jardan didn't leave her time to ponder. Fingers like an iron manacle about her wrist, he took off running, dragging her behind.  
  
"What are we going to do?" she panted, trying not to look back. Just the thought of Daionarus following was enough to quicken her legs.  
  
"Tell the king," he threw over his shoulder. "And see if he believes me."  
  
"Why wouldn't he?"  
  
"Oh, come on, Daine. Accusing Raillenden's Elder? It'll look like a pretty poor attempt at passing blame."  
  
She ran up alongside him, shaking her head. "They'll know you wouldn't lie. Especially not about this. Besides," she added as an afterthought, "I saw him as well."  
  
Gods, had she ever. A shiver wrapped her spine.  
  
They rounded a last corner and left the spindling burrow, dodging bodies of the long-fallen, finally coming to a halt beside the canal.  
  
The water was clear, no dilapidated ale keg in sight. Daine waited impatiently, hands twisting together. She was completely thrown; the last few minutes seemed hazy, insubstantial. A nightmare.  
  
Anger mingled with maudlin emotion. She was dangerously near tears, and consequently cross with herself. If there was ever a time not to behave like a weepy fool! But she felt fair wretched for Jardan and, as much as she was growing to value the wild mage, yearned for Numair. It felt strange to travel anywhere without him. He was so reassuring when things went bad; even if he had no idea what to do, he pretended for her sake. And it helped. It did.  
  
Nerves scrabbling at her gut, she moved to Jardan's side, searching his face. Confusion and shock blurred his features, and her heart contracted. She reached for his hand again, squeezing tight. Looking down at her, he tried to smile.  
  
She didn't know what to say, but was rescued by the arrival of the barrel. It swerved out of the tunnel, moving quickly, as if determined to pass by unhindered. Dropping her fingers, Jardan lunged for it, grappling for a secure hold. Hauling it to a relative stand- still, he motioned for her to get in. She did so, as fast as her limbs could react. This time, she felt a whole new affinity for the dratted thing. If it got them out of this gods-abandoned place, she'd even embrace it.  
  
Jardan's hasty leap almost toppled him over the side, but he managed to right both himself and the skimpy rug before they slid into the next tunnel. Knuckles pressed against the wood, Daine leaned back, sitting tautly. She wasn't interested in the unfamiliar burial chambers that flashed by, but tried to remain alert, watching for the original cavern and its passage back to Jardan and Kyria's cave.  
  
Perhaps ten minutes later, they shot through a rough fissure and simultaneously, gratefully, spotted the mooring post and dangling rope. Daine was already halfway onto the bank when Jardan snatched the line, jerking them to anchor. She slithered out on her belly, stumbling to her knees and then tottering to her none-too-steady feet. Spinning back, she extended a hand to him. He shot her an ironic look, before grasping it and allowing her to pull him clear.  
  
Scurrying back through the splintered barricade, his fervor to return to the palace peaked and he jostled her impatiently up the ancient steps and out of the cave.  
  
Hitting cold fresh air, however, he stopped, scowling in dismay. Daine skidded at his side, gulping in cool breaths, feeling reality take hold. Her prior fury was returning with a vengeance. She only had to imagine Sir Tremain's death cries, his wife's tears and Jardan's face earlier, and her fingers itched to get at Daionarus.  
  
The weather endorsed her mood. Although it had to be near morning, the storm still raged on and the sky lay bloated and black with clouds. Thunder shook the peaks again, and Jardan shook his head.  
  
"It's too dangerous to go up in this," he decided, and Daine nodded. She was well aware of the dangers of flying in lightning, having experienced a near-miss in Tortall the year before. Numair's head had just about imploded with wrath, she remembered.  
  
"Can we go by land?" she asked, searching for possible paths.  
  
He considered, then nodded. "It'll take a few more hours, but it's the safest way in these conditions."  
  
Almost before he'd finished speaking, he jumped forward, shape-shifting into a sturdy mountain goat.  
  
Daine shrugged. It made sense.  
  
Concentrating her powers, she exchanged pink skin for coarse hair and human bones for those of the more sure-footed four-legger. Carefully picking her way down the uneven slope, she hurried after his rapidly disappearing form.  
  
Upon reaching the marshlands, she didn't need to take his cue. Acting on common sense, she morphed again. Legs extended, became muscled, sleeker. Body strengthened and swelled; face stretched and softened. Then, whickering gently, Daine's mare surged after Jardan's stallion.  
  
**...........................................  
**  
Several hours later, when they reached the palace, the squalling tempest had thrown down arms. Only a light drizzle lingered, padding against Azassandra's ravaged violets. Withers coated in mud, the wild mages galloped through the gates – which were, unusually, unguarded – and pawed to a snorting stop in the courtyard.  
  
Jardan tossed his head at Daine._ 'Fly up to your chamber and dress. I'll meet you in the king's quarters in five minutes, alright?'_  
  
She ducked her own in affirmative, then, rearing up on her hind legs, changed into sparrowhawk form and launched into the sky. Ruffling dirty feathers, she flapped higher and tried to orientate her exhausted brain with the building's layout. Locating her window, and fervently hoping that Numair would still be asleep, Daine spiraled toward it. Without bothering to slow her speed, she arrowed through the casement and hurriedly altered back to human-born form.  
  
Anxiety made her clumsy and, her ankle rolling, she stumbled. Cursing loudly, she caught her balance and looked around, face falling. Although she'd expected it, she was still disappointed to find the room empty. The covers were carelessly bunched on the bed, half-slipping to the floor, as if someone had left it hastily.  
  
Daine peered down at herself and winced. She was fair filthy. Still, there would be time to bathe later. Slapping dry dirt from her calves, she scrabbled for a clean shirt. As she fastened the last buttonhole and smoothed it into crisp breeches, it occurred to her that it was far too big and, most likely, Numair's, but no matter. No one would be concerned with her appearance when they heard of the cave-dweller.  
  
Swinging out the door, she shoved it closed and walked down the hallway. Then she realized that nobody was around – strange – to see her attempt at ladylike behaviour and broke into a run.  
  
She reached the corridor that led to the royal chambers and slowed. Rounding the corner, she almost bumped into a now-clothed Jardan. He was frowning, bottom lip caught between his teeth.  
  
Daine gestured onward. "Shall we?" she asked grimly.  
  
He shook his head in worried puzzlement. "I just had a look. There's no one there. In fact, there's no one anywhere."  
  
Apparently solely to discredit his statement, the door behind him was flung open and a very young page sprinted out.  
  
Jardan grabbed the fleeing youngster by the collar, near lifting him from his feet.  
  
"Tammus," he exclaimed, taken aback. "What's the matter?"  
  
The boy, deathly pale, was gaping as if the wild mage were a Midsummer wraith. Goggling, he opened his mouth a time or two, but nothing emerged bar a series of squeaks.  
  
Face wrought with concern now, Jardan set him gently on his feet and, casting a speaking glance at Daine, yanked the door open.  
  
Tammus found his voice most impressively then and took off, bellowing loud enough to wake the gods.  
  
Daine, startled, watched him go, then realized that Jardan had already disappeared through the opening and hurried to follow.  
  
She found herself in a shorter corridor, heavy wooden doors marking the end.  
  
"What's through there?" she asked Jardan, catching up before he could pull them open.  
  
His mouth was set in forbidding lines.  
  
"This is Daionarus' study," he replied, then grasped both handles and hauled the doors back with a bang.  
  
The spacious room within was full to bursting with people, some of whom looked horrified, while others whispered frantically. Several, Daine noticed with a shock, had even swooned.  
  
More than one head turned at their entrance, and a relieved voice cried out.  
  
"Oh, thank the gods! They're back!"  
  
A tall figure instantly separated himself from the mumbling crowd, and she focused on the utterly furious face of her lover.  
  
Numair reached her in two long strides, glowering murderously.  
  
Daine, anticipating a scolding, immediately began to apologize, tripping over her fast explanations.  
  
The mage glared silently down for a moment, long frame held stiffly.  
  
Then, cursing volubly, he reached out and yanked her into shaking arms. One hand slipped into her hair, winding tight. Engulfed by his warmth and scent, the ridiculous tears rushed back to Daine's lashes and she nestled closer, burrowing her face into his neck. She could feel his heart fair thudding against her cheek, much too fast.  
  
"If I weren't so glad to see you, magelet," he muttered fiercely into her ear, "I'd _flog_ you."  
  
She tightened her grip, willing her knees to quit their trembling. Numair smoothed her hair back, trailing his fingers down her jaw.  
  
"If you_ ever_ take off like that again..." he warned, muscles still tense.  
  
"I won't. I'm sorry, Numair, I didn't want to worry you." She tilted her head back a little. "I love you," she told him softly, not wanting flapping ears to listen.  
  
"And I love you, but don't think you're going to get around me like that," he informed her crossly. Nevertheless, his expression softened. "Are you hurt?" he asked, pulling back to see for himself.  
  
"No..." she started to deny, but trailed off as his brows snapped together with concern.  
  
"What happened to your eye?" he exclaimed, touching the swelling gently.  
  
Daine groaned; with all that'd happened, she'd completely forgotten. It was probably black and blue now.  
  
"Uh, that was my fault," Jardan's voice spoke up. He was standing near Azassandra, watching them impatiently. "Sorry."  
  
"You _hit _her?" Numair's grip bit into Daine's shoulders as he turned his fury on the other man.  
  
"It was an accident," she reassured him hastily. "We were about to get in the boat...well, ale barrel, and - "  
  
"Ale barrel?" chorused numerous voices in confusion.  
  
Jardan moved before the king, fists clenched. "We have news, your Majesty," he said dismally. "About Daionarus."  
  
To the surprise of both wild mages, King Benjamin nodded roughly. "You've heard then?" he questioned them.  
  
They exchanged wary glances.  
  
"Heard...what?" Jardan asked slowly.  
  
The king began to reply, then gave up and gestured silently back, beyond the throng of arms and legs and chattering tongues.  
  
Curious, apprehensive, Daine reluctantly left Numair's hold and edged forward to Jardan's side, peering over the Elder's solid wooden desk.  
  
Her eyes widened and words dried up in her mouth.  
  
The reason for Tammus' hysteria became all too clear.  
  
Sprawled lifelessly on the floor was a body. A long, long dead body. Flesh festered and disintegrated before their horrified gaze, slipping from aged bones and disappearing into dust. The rancid corpse was decaying as they watched.  
  
Features were already lost, rotting quickly as if nature had been curbed and was now eager to complete its task.  
  
But it was, with no doubt whatsoever, Daionarus.  
  
Jerking to look at Jardan, Daine's mind whirled, searching for a logical explanation.  
  
She couldn't find one.  
  
And absolutely shared his first reaction.  
  
"_What in Chaos is going on around here?_"


	15. The Stolen Crown

**Disclaimer:** Anything that you recognize from the Tamora Pierce books belongs to her.

**A/N:** Sorry about the hugely long time in between updates! I caught the flu and then I had an essay due for uni. But I'm on mid-semester break in a week, so I'll try to update more regularly. And write longer chapters than this one. :) I'm taking quite a lot of license with this fic, so I hope it doesn't sound too unlikely! Thank you heaps to the people who reviewed the last chapter:

**_CrAzYhOrSeGiRl88 _**- sorry about the cliffies! I never even thought I was a cliffy person, because it drives me crazy when other people do it! :) Thanks for reviewing.

**_Elementalmoon_** - I'm glad you liked the chapter, I was worried it went kind of downhill! Your reviews have been really encouraging.

**_Fire Daughter_** - Thank you for reviewing! I think Numair's going to see Jardan as a threat still. I'm mean. I think Numair's cute when he's jealous in people's fics. :o)

**_elvenprinzcess_** - Lol, I hope that's not confused in a bad way! Thanks, it's a huge compliment from you, because I love your fics.

**_Mel_** - I hope the spelling is mostly ok in this chapter, lol. When I'm tired, I tend to start spelling even words like "the" wrong. Yeah, I wasn't sure about the whole "Jardan talking about his past" thing. I didn't think he was the type to just start gossiping about it over a cup of tea! Thanks for sticking with the story so far; your reviews made me feel a lot better about some of the chapters!

**_Hidden Relevance_** - I hope I can un-confuse you soon, lol. I see a few people were suspecting Daionarus was part of it. I don't think I should try writing a mystery! :) Thank you for the review.

**_Goddess of the Moon_** - I think I must have unintentionally given him an evil vibe or something! Oops. Yeah, I'm definitely not made for writing mysteries, lol. Thanks for reviewing!

**_Ami4_** - Thanks! I'm really glad you're liking the story so far. I think you're an awesome writer. I love your _West Wing_ fic.

**_Roherwen_** - I know, I've started writing cliffies without even meaning to! :) Thanks!

**_Girlfromtheshadows_** - Thank you, your reviews have been so nice! Especially since I was thinking it might be getting worse!

**_wild black fire_** - Wow, thank you so much for the huge compliment! There's a couple of stories on the site that I feel like that about too. I'm always forgetting what actually happened in the books and what I read in fanfics!

**_Aindel S. Druida_** - LOL, congrats on being majorly on the right path so far. I was like, darn it, she's guessing my whole plot! But that's ok. I can handle being obvious. :P

**_Whisper _**- Thank you! Your reviews have been some of my most encouraging since early on. I hope things start to become clearer soon (for me as well, lol. I'm making up a lot of stuff as I go). I wouldn't want your head to explode! :)

**_Equestrian-babe101_** - Thank you for the review! I'm really glad that you're liking the story so far.

**_Narm's Briton 44_** - Thanks for reviewing; I love your fics, so it always makes me feel better about mine if you like them. Keep writing fluffy one-shots, I love them!

**_angrypickle_** - Thank you and yay, another fluff-lover! Not much in this chapter, but much more later on. :)

**_surfergirl16_** - Ok, it wasn't really a fast update, sorry, but thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you like it so far. :)

**_Fantasizing-Lady-Knight_** - Wow, that's a lot of PLEASEs, LOL! Thank you for all the nice comments too.

**_Stefen_** - Thanks :) Again, sorry about the wait for the update.

**_don got 1_** - Thank you for the really nice review! I'm glad that I'm not using completely obscure words, or words that don't make sense! :)

**_KelDomForever_** - Not quite explained yet, but getting there! Thanks for the review!

**_TheWildMage_** - Thank you! I'm really glad that you're liking it. So far anyway, lol.

**_Dragon and the Wild Mage_** - That's ok, I wasn't mad that you hadn't reviewed. :) Keep updating your fic too, I want to know what happens!

**_kat-tak_** - Thanks for reviewing. And for liking it, lol. :)

**_Lady Deathstrike_** - I made someone cry! I feel bad. But that's also a HUGE compliment, because I hardly ever cry when I read stories either. So thank you heaps for the really nice review!

I really hope that's everyone! Sorry if I missed you out!

**.................................................................................**

The room was dark with fear and confusion. Agitated voices swam in Daine's ears. She sighed, keeping her gaze fastened on the herb tea before her but unable to summon the desire to drink. An hour or more must have passed since that first shocking glimpse of Daionarus. If it _was_, in fact, Daionarus. That was what they were waiting to discover. Glancing up finally, her stormy eyes flickered about the throne room.

King Benjamin and Queen Lijana stood near the window, heads together, brows creased. The beautiful queen's hands moved in rhythm to the words falling from her lips. Her husband, face grim, shook his head at intervals. They appeared to be arguing.

Prince Braydon, looking inexplicably amused by it all, lounged on plush cushions in the centre of the room. Meeting her measuring look squarely, he raised a wine goblet in mocking salute. Daine's lips twisted and she turned away. Clearly the prince saw no reason to be disturbed by a circumstance that had his family reeling.

Thayet and Alanna were also in conversation, their voices hushed. Impatience decorated their mystified faces like paint, and she suspected that they wouldn't stand idle for long.

Sitting tensely either side of her were Azassandra and Jardan. After the initial flurry of questions and curses, the wild mage had fallen into musing silence. Equally quiet, the princess was unusually composed, lost in thought. They would both be keeping up a reasonable pretense of calm, Daine thought, if it weren't for the nervous mannerisms. Every few minutes, Jardan would leap to his feet and pace like an edgy fishwife. And as soon as he did so, Azassandra would commence cracking her finger bones.

It was seriously beginning to get on Daine's nerves.

As an inane giggle tickled her throat, she wondered if perhaps she might be getting a notch hysterical. Reaching up with one hand, she wound a curl about her fist, pulling until it hurt and her knuckles bled white.

The knot in her belly loosened a little. There was something to be said for nervous mannerisms...

The heavy doors swung open, and all eyes turned to the entering trio. Stepping inside first, Lemerus was tomb-white and visibly upset. A solemn Isorus repeatedly patted her arm in a frenzy of soothing. It didn't appear to appease her. Numair brought up the rear, contained and stern. Daine recognized that look. It appeared whenever some intellectual dilemma dared vex him. The mages had remained to inspect the body. Obviously logical explanations had not flourished.

He immediately sought, and held, her gaze. She didn't miss the barely perceptible shake of his head.

"Well?"

The king didn't waste time with his snapped appeal. Hands planted on hips, he glared at the remaining Elders. His composure shaken, the royal looked fierce and determined.

Numair walked quietly to Daine's side and she stood, slipping her hand into his. He looked to the native mages, acknowledging their place to speak first.

Lemerus ran a rough hand through loose hair. It was the first time that Daine had seen the lovely woman less than immaculately presented. Her distress was etched clearly into pinched features.

"The body has been removed to the mausoleum," she informed her ruler soberly. "There was little to be learned from the remains. When we...when we left him, he was naught but bones." She took a shaky breath, clearly trying to reconcile her thoughts. "But it absolutely was not a simulacrum, sire."

King Benjamin's eyes narrowed. It was impossible to read his face.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, your Majesty. Quite certain."

Isorus spoke up in confirmation. "The decomposition was inordinately rapid, milord, but I would swear by the gods that what we have is a human body." He paused. "The body of _whom_ is the question."

"You heard what Jardan and Daine said," Queen Lijana responded, stepping forward to lightly clasp her husband's arm. "If they saw Daionarus in the catacombs mere hours ago, how...how is this possible? We all saw for ourselves; it was no illusion. You say it was no simulacrum. How could a man be on his feet and wrapped in magic one moment, a pile of bones in the crypt the next?"

"If the body _is_ Daionarus," Lemerus began slowly, "Then he has been dead for a very long time. Ten years at least. Perhaps twenty, perhaps more."

"Twenty years..." The king looked stunned.

"So what you're saying," Jardan broke in abruptly, jerking to his feet, "Is that the man we knew, the man we _trusted_, as Daionarus was...what? Somebody else entirely?"

Absently stroking Daine's fingers, Numair shook his head. "We don't know. Obviously it doesn't add up. You've seen him, for a long time, apparently alive. And everyone here saw him, in the last few hours, most definitely dead."

"You have no explanations to offer at all then?" Braydon piped up, the sneer very evident both in voice and face.

"_Quiet!_"

The prince rolled scornful eyes at his father's command, but didn't dare disobey it.

Numair tossed an impatient look in the heir's direction. Daine knew that he had no time for the sulky man. He and Jardan were united in that respect, at least. Both mages considered the future ruler a waste of breath and space.

The king shook his head, dismissing his son irritably. He turned to Numair in question. "I can see in your eyes that you have something to say, Master Salmalin. If so, speak, please. This is no time for reticence."

Daine, frowning slightly, waited for the answer. She had a pressing suspicion that things were about to get a lot more complicated.

Numair hesitated, thoughtful gaze narrowed on the floor. Without looking up, he began to speak slowly. "It is, of course, possible for a person to transfer their magic to someone else. To temporarily store their Gift within another being. Difficult, yes, but possible."

King Benjamin looked from one foreign face to the next. "This has been done before?"

Alanna nodded, lips pursed. "It has."

"But it's not only physically draining, it's also rather dangerous," the mage continued. "Should the person be unwilling to return the Gift..." He shrugged. "It could be something of a problem. However, if the vessel in question has no will...no soul of their own...their body would be completely vulnerable to control."

There was a brief silence, shortly broken by Queen Lijana. "You believe that Daionarus died then...and that his body has been utilized as a vessel for mage magic?"

"Yes, I do," he confirmed. His dark eyes traveled over Jardan before returning to Daine. "Daine and Master Treylrawne said that Daionarus' Gift appeared to be white. Colourless."

"It always has been," Braydon retorted grumpily.

"Perhaps," was Numair's cool return. "But it could also indicate a camouflage incantation. Further protection against identification."

"But why?" the queen queried, husky voice distressed. "Why would anyone wish to hide their magic? And to go to such extremes to do so?"

"The swan may have beauty, but the brown wren escapes the arrow," Azassandra quoted softly.

Numair nodded in appreciation. "Exactly, your Highness." He turned back to the monarchs. "I think we may safely link our mystery magic source to the Blazewings, your Majesties. Whoever this mage is, he or she has orchestrated devastating damage. More than one person here is out for blood. Escaping detection would be a priority, and there's no better way to fly under the target than to appear Giftless."

"So an incredibly powerful mage is wandering about the Isles wreaking disaster, and we've had no idea whatsoever of their capability?" King Benjamin asked.

"I'd wager a thousand gold nobles on it."

"Wonderful," the ruler replied flatly.

"You say that Daionarus has most likely been dead ten summers or more, Lemerus." Jardan's voice was curt.

The Elder's eyes were coated in misery. "Yes. Ten years at the very least, I should think. Probably more."

"Then the Daionarus that I've known, my teacher, was not he at all? I've...been learning from the hands that killed Kyria." The bitter realization came harshly, from lips reluctant to speak the words.

Daine barely restrained herself from reaching out to him. Her instinct to touch, to help, surprised her. Other than to Numair and the People, she was not always an openly affectionate person.

Nobody seemed to know what to say.

"Daionarus isn't behind this," Jardan stated, as if attempting to reshuffle his thoughts, examine the new hand dealt.

"It appears not," Daine spoke up finally.

"Then we're back to knowing precisely what we did before!" he snapped in disgust. "Nothing!"

"The Blazewings have been conjured from immense hatred," Thayet addressed the Sailan royals. "Do you have any idea why someone would wish to inflict such a curse on your people? On yourselves?"

The king sighed. "Kingdoms and rulers always have enemies, your Highness. You know that, as do we." His voice turned grim. "But you're right. This is no petty spite. Either someone is capable of immeasurable evil, or they feel colossally wronged."

"Perhaps both," his daughter suggested quietly. Her eyes were piercing in her pretty face. "Pa, you don't think...do you think the Renaikevs have returned?"

"No," came the instinctive denial. Then, slowly: "Perhaps. We always knew that it probably wasn't over. But to head such evil, such slaughter..."

"Tit for tat really, wouldn't you say, father dear?" Braydon drawled nasally, stretching lean arms above his head.

The room became heavy and still, only the sound of harsh breaths threatening the quiet.

Then King Benjamin's anger exploded from his taut body.

"Mithros' curse, boy! Show some loyalty and spine for once in your life,_ for the love of the gods!_ You can simper and sneer all you like, whelp, but you're a Micharon by blood and you will one day lead our people. May the Mother Goddess help them! If you don't keep your mouth shut, I'll have your head in a noose before I'll see it under a crown!"

Braydon's lips were tight, the edges pale. Gaze curiously glittering and intense, he stared in deathly calm at his father. His words, when they came, were blade-edged and cruel.

"But that's the rub, isn't it, Papa? They're not our people at all. And perhaps I'd rather hang honest from a rope than suffer the weight of a stolen crown."

Daine exchanged a frowning glance with Numair. She looked from the still, serious prince to where the king stood, almost quivering with anger.

She'd wondered what lurked beneath the serene beauty of the Isles. It seemed there was more trouble than she'd ever imagined.

Benjamin's mouth opened and closed a few times before he gained the composure to hiss, "Birthright doesn't always equal worth, my son. You're a walking example of that."

His acid insult lingered as he stalked to the door, yanked it open and departed with a slam.

The queen took a deep breath, exhaling loudly. She cast her son an unreadable look.

"You've said quite enough, child. Go to your chambers."

Braydon tore his gaze from the closed door, and snorted.

"Now."

The prince continued to bluster a little, but even he wasn't fool enough to disregard his mother's steely tone. Pushing roughly past his brooding sister, he stomped from the room.

Queen Lijana sighed, meeting the eyes of her guests. "I'm terribly sorry about that. You deserved clarification, not a confrontation with our domestic problems. Azassandra will explain. I must go and retrieve my husband," she said ruefully. "Please excuse both myself and my family's appalling manners."

"Not at all," Thayet said sympathetically. She smiled a little. "When you visit us in Tortall, you'll meet my husband, Jon."

"Enough said" were the unspoken words.

Daine hid a smile. Certainly their king was not one to be docile and polite in conflict either.

Lijana chuckled, banishing several of the stress lines from her brow. She curtseyed once, and disappeared to locate her furious lover.

Alanna let a low soft whistle and sat down across from Thayet. Daine's body felt stiff and achy with tension, and she didn't protest the tug of Numair's hand. He towed her toward a padded bench near the fireplace. It was warm there, both from the heat of the flames and the gentle stroke of his fingers on her arm. Feeling the exhaustion of the past few days and the strife sure to come, she leaned against him, fighting the urge to close her eyes and burrow close.

Azassandra looked embarrassed as she sank to her brother's abandoned cushions, sitting straight-backed and cross-legged like a seer.

"I apologize also," she told them, a little stiffly. "Things can become rather...heated between my father and my brother. Braydon loves to be provocative. He gets bored frequently. And vile. He becomes vile frequently too." She finished this summation with an unaffected grin.

Daine returned the gesture, secretly glad that her Ma hadn't birthed a son also.

Numair smiled, but his eyes remained serious. He didn't dally with courtly words.

"You have an idea who is responsible for the Blazewings, Azassandra?"

Shadows chased away the princess' light-hearted expression. She nodded. "Yes. Well. I have a suspicion. Pa was right when he said that we have enemies enough. It's true, of course it's true, but the amount of hate involved... Those who harbor that much revulsion for us are lesser in number, I'm relieved to say."

"Who are the Renaikevs, Aza?" Daine asked carefully.

Azassandra's smile returned, but her good humour did not. She was silent for a moment, then finally replied in even tones.

"The Sailan Isles' rightful royal family."


	16. Royal Dispute

**Disclaimer:** Anything that you recognise from the Tamora Pierce books belongs to her.

**A/N:** Sorry about the laziness in not updating, but I've been having a bad run of the flu at the moment. I'll try to be better about it! :)

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed: fuzzfurry, Elementalmoon, um, Kit49, Lady Deathstrike, Darking Queen (LOL, it wasn't intentional with Braydon's name, but I like that! I'll be thinking of him as kind of an ass now. :)), soccerchick08, Roherwen, Fantasizing-Lady-Knight, Narm's Briton 44, KelDomForever, nam mum, fell4adeadguy (yes, definitely a DN fic. I'm obsessed with them as a couple! :)), TrafficLights, Equestrian-babe101, AnnaWeb, Liako, elvenprinzcess, DramaQn621, simi, Goddess Of The Moon, TheWildMage, CrAzYhOrSeGiRl88, Whisper, Ami4, Aindel S. Druida and surfergurl16.

I will do individual acknowledgements next time, I'm sorry I didn't this time, but I appreciate all of your reviews and ideas heaps!

* * *

From her perch on the sill bench, Daine drew her knees up to her chin and rested against the window casing, watching as the afternoon ripened into dusk. A few courting couples strolled the paving below, backs held rigidly, eyes averted, fingers sneaking to touch and entwine. Palace servants bearing breadsticks and wine casks, salted meat and corn husks, scurried to prepare the meals that would not touch their lips. Thoughts whirling, she gazed down at the activity before her, feeling oddly detached from it. 

She turned her head to scan the bedchamber, and smiled involuntarily. Numair lay sprawled on her bed, oblivious to the scattered papers and books crushed beneath his long form. He'd brought his findings from Daionarus' body back to her room, declaring his intention to examine them further from there. Daine knew his overprotective habit when it emerged. Everything that was happening had him concerned for her safety, and he'd shield her as much as he could get away with.

She rolled her eyes suddenly, remembering something he'd said last Midsummer: "I prefer it when I can see you with my own eyes, magelet. Aside from the reasons that would make you blush, I'd rather be around when you inevitably get yourself into mishap than have to imagine it. Either way, I'm going to end up with white hair."

Despite everything, amusement sparked in Daine's face. Whatever Numair's reasons for dogging her steps through the palace, he wasn't fulfilling them. Not five minutes after he'd picked up the first sheet of quill-scratched parchment, the mage had fallen asleep. Which he'd either deny soon, or else chastise her for not waking him. She couldn't bring herself to do it, knowing he'd slept fitfully the past nights. Wriggling into a more comfortable position, she leaned back, calmed by the sound of his deep, even breaths. Briefly considering curling next to him, she knew that she would be unable to sleep. Energy – instinct perhaps – was zinging inside her blood, and she couldn't shake the awareness that they should keep their guard up.

Her mind was constantly drawn back to the conversation with Azassandra, that first damning statement.

"_The Sailan Isles' rightful royal family."_

There had been a slightly stunned silence, before Thayet cleared her throat. Three times.

"I'm sorry," the queen had said finally. "I'm afraid that I don't quite understand. You're...are you not...?"

Usurpers. An ugly word and an even worse situation. In halting phrases and slightly defiant tones, Azassandra had given them a brief account of the Isles' recent history. Although it was rarely discussed aloud and no longer fodder for gossip, King Benjamin and Queen Lijana, and the rest of the Micharon line, did not rule by birthright.

The Tortallans had remained quiet while the princess spoke, eyes narrowed. Everyone understood the impact of that revelation; they all knew that the stakes had just been raised. There was nothing, Daine thought now, like the premise of a crown for the promise of bloodshed. Grown warriors would squabble like babes - and kill like assassins - for that symbol of power.

Or they would plot and scheme, break bonds of loyalty and fealty, and slaughter in cold blood.

She shook her head, readily understanding Azassandra's humiliation. T'was surely not a family heritage she would like to inherit.

According to their new friend, the Sailan people had, several generations earlier, existed in joyful disarray. The king and queen of the time, Khioran and Jessmine Renaikev, were a kind and carefree couple. Wondrously in love with one another, their delight in that happiness and with their young family had spread to the court, the knights, the servants and the peasants. Yet benevolence did not always translate to effective leadership. Despite the near universal goodwill, the kingdom had been falling apart. To put it bluntly, Azassandra grimaced, Khioran was a terrible superior. Generous, welcoming and friendly, but also vague and unable to make decisions. And far too trusting.

That unconditional trust had indirectly pushed him right from the throne. The king made the mistake of placing it in his closest companion, his Champion, Salomain Micharon. Khioran Renaikev and Salomain Micharon had been boyhood friends and, or so the royal believed, grown allies. That belief and trust had persisted through their weddings, the birth of an heir, and numerous battles. Only to be shattered, finally and irrevocably, by the vassal's ultimate betrayal.

Salomain had apparently connived against the Crown for years, working without discovery under Khioran's lenient and naïve rule. Having eventually gathered enough rebel forces, he attacked during a festival of the gods and the result was an utter massacre. Lazy with drink and laughter, the King's Own were taken by surprise, completely unprepared for the slaying. Azassandra, not bothering to hide her contempt for her great-grandfather, told them of the triumphant log he had kept, detailing the killings, the cries, and his glory. Not satisfied with his stolen power, Salomain had then carried out the murders of Queen Jessmine and her daughters. To the fury of the usurping king, Khioran's son had escaped the manhunt - a fact that his father paid dearly for. Denied the "mercy" of death, Khioran spent the remainder of his life below ground, chained to a hitching post for oxen.

King Salomain's resulting reign had led the Sailan people out of oblivious cheer and into tyranny. Away from the trappings of subservience, his true nature had been allowed to shine: that of a cruel, vindictive, _evil_ man.

"It doesn't say much for natural justice, does it?" Jardan had commented soberly. "When a good man can die alone in a dungeon, while a bastard like Salomain Micharon – no offense, Aza – dies in a warm bed."

Daine remembered looking out another window then, and wondering that such a beautiful, seemingly serene, place could have such bloody, traitorous roots.

"I'm not proud of all my ancestry," Azassandra had told them fervently, "I'm downright ashamed to share the blood of a man like that. But my parents' thrones are not founded solely on treachery."

It seemed that indecision had fallen on the kingdom after Salomain's death; they had once more faced the potential for civil war as the question of an heir arose. While Salomain's son Tobias was prepared to accept the role, the return of Khioran's son Philip had complicated matters. Although it may have seemed simple to return the throne to its rightful family, Tobias had, it seemed, been nothing like his father. A man with both intelligence and character, the Oppressor's child was dearly loved by the people. When the palace advisors, at a loss, determined that each knight should be allocated a vote, the results were overwhelming. Tobias Micharon, and his son Benjamin, became the new royal line.

"Nobody heard from Philip, or any of the Renaikevs, again," Jardan had concluded. "They disappeared from the Isles a couple of weeks later. And that was that."

Until now? Sighing, Daine dropped her legs to the floor and stood, stretching out stiff limbs. It was almost dark, the room cast into shadow. Stepping quietly, she reached for a taper and lit it from the bedside candle. As she carefully set a candelabrum ablaze, she looked at Numair again. He had turned to lie on his back, dark hair tugging loose of its hold, but was still sleeping deeply.

Pulling impatient fingers through her own tangled curls, she approached the bed and gingerly clambered up beside him. A grin curved the corners of her mouth as she moved to lightly straddle him.

"Numair," she whispered, stroking one hand down his chest.

His hand moved to cover hers, and he smiled, but still didn't waken. Her grin widened.

"Numair." A little louder.

He rolled over slightly, almost tipping her off.

Daine gave up. "Numair!" she snapped loudly, right into his ear.

He sat up with a start, leaving sleep abruptly behind. Two strong arms instinctively folded about her waist and drowsy, confused eyes met hers. They were almost nose-to-nose.

"Did I wake you?" she asked innocently, tightening her grip on him.

Drowsiness immediately changed to offense. "I wasn't sleeping," he said defensively. "I was studying...these papers."

He quirked a rueful eyebrow as he pulled a pile of particularly wrinkled scrolls from beneath his leg. Then he grinned at her.

"I concentrate better with my eyes shut," he explained with mock-seriousness.

"I see." She nodded with equal sobriety. Her fingers slid along his jaw and into silky black hair.

Desire lit the depths of Numair's eyes. Even as he frowned at her in completely unconvincing censure, his hands moved to stroke Daine's waist.

"And what do you think you're doing?" he asked teasingly, as her mouth moved to his.

Her lids lowered to hide a wicked gleam.

"Concentrating," she murmured.

* * *

Daine sneezed loudly as yet another dust cloud burst in her face. Spluttering in a most ungainly and unladylike way, she glared through the grime at her two companions. 

"_Why_ are we stuck down here again?"

Azassandra reached up and tried to rub grease from her forehead. She only succeeded in transferring it to her nose, chin and neck.

"We're looking through any remaining Renaikev belongings for clues," she recited. Then her nose wrinkled, and she looked at Daine and Jardan. "Does anyone else suspect that we've been moved out of the way?"

King Benjamin had ordered the three of them to search the palace cellars for anything that had belonged to the Renaikev family. No one was prepared to rule out the possibility that they were behind the Blazewing attacks. Hence the reason they were up to their hair-partings in years-old dirt. Having, as yet, found nothing.

Meanwhile, Benjamin, Lijana and Thayet were closeted together in close royal conference, Numair and the Elders were pooling their magic in another attempt to uncover evidence from the flesh and blood samples, and she wasn't sure where Alanna and Onua were. Her friends had all sent her encouraging, slightly sympathetic, looks as she'd departed beneath ground, but – she noted rather sourly – none of them had volunteered their services to help.

With good reason.

Daine didn't mind getting dirty; she was more comfortable covered in pig swill than clad in a lace ball gown if it came to it. But this was fair ridiculous! She didn't think anyone could have stepped foot in here since Philip Renaikev had left the Isles. Taking the last tapestry out of a bronze trunk, she examined it doubtfully then put it down.

"Nothing in this one either," she reported, rather carelessly tossing things back in.

"Nor this one," Azassandra replied, slamming the wooden lid closed.

"What are we looking for exactly?" Jardan queried, picking up an engraved trinket box and peering at it from all angles.

"I'm not sure what Da expected us to find," the princess admitted, shrugging. "Anything, I suppose. We're all getting a little..."

Desperate. The word went unsaid, but they were all thinking it. Daine frowned. The tension in the air was thickening as days passed uneventfully. It couldn't be over, and nobody wanted to know what would happen next, but this waiting...

"It could be worse," the other wild mage said suddenly, as if he'd read her thoughts. "At least Braydon seems to be making himself scarce."

"I'm not sure that's a good thing," Azassandra replied. "With my brother, as much as you wish him away, it's best to know where he is. Especially after what happened the day we found Daionarus' body."

Jardan's face darkened a little, and Daine cast him a quick glance.

"When is Daionarus' burial to be?" she asked quietly.

Jardan looked down at his filthy hands, before quickly busying himself with a shelf of books.

"The other Elders believe that it is best to wait until all this is over...one way or the other." His voice was grim.

Daine nodded. She picked up one of the books, starting to flip through the pages as she spoke hesitantly. "I'm sorry, Jardan. About Daionarus."

He let out a harsh breath and shook his head. "I'm too tired to grieve again," he stated simply. "It'll sink in one day, no doubt. But for now...I can only focus on what has to be done."

They all fell silent, only the sound of rustling paper breaking the quiet.

Mind drifting, body itching to be outdoors, Daine almost missed the charcoal portrait. It was small, but deftly executed and entirely familiar. Blinking, she stared blankly at the page for a moment then flipped to the cover to check the title.

Yes. It was definitely a Renaikev history log. With portraits of Renaikev ancestors.

Not sure what to think, she continued to gaze down wordlessly.

"Daine, I...Daine? What is it? Have you found something?" Azassandra asked sharply.

Jardan left the rest of the volumes alone, and looked up.

Finally, Daine coughed and turned the book over, holding it up jerkily.

"Does this portrait bear a certain resemblance to anyone, do you think?"

Two pairs of eyes widened.

And the silence stretched.


	17. Live To Regret It

**Disclaimer:** Anything that you recognise as being Tamora Pierce's belongs to her.

**A/N:** Thank you everyone who reviewed! It was really encouraging, and I appreciated all of the feedback.

**beckythorn13**, **Girlfromtheshadows**, **Darking Queen**, **Roherwen**, **Tortalls Wildchild**, **DestinyHunter**, **fell4adeadguy**, **Equestrian-babe101**, **Aindel S. Druida**, **soccerchick08**, **b2okworm1**,** KelDomForever**, **surfergurl16**, **UM, AnnaWeb** and **Kit49** - LOL, my barrage of complaints and comments about the cliffhanger. Sorry! :) I can't stand it when other people do that and apparently I keep doing it myself. But thank you all so much for reviewing!

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If I left someone out, I'm really sorry but I did appreciate your review!

* * *

"Renwald Verran." 

King Benjamin lowered the heritage log and sat down heavily at his desk. Daine looked from the ruler's shocked face back to the ancestral portrait. To those strikingly bland, ageless features. Sir Renwald was an absolute ringer for the late Renaikev cousin. His kin, surely? She'd been mentally comparing the faces since they'd carried their booty up from the cellars, and there was no mistaking the similarity.

So the aloof Captain was a member of the long-lost royal family. She chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully. But whether he was behind the Blazewing plague was another question entirely.

Queen Lijana shared her hesitation. Walking to stand by her husband's side, she carefully picked up the volume and examined the likeness. "He must be a Renaikev," she agreed. "But we don't know for sure that he's involved in this, love. We've made so many wrong turns already; we can't simply accuse him without proof."

"Precisely," said a tall blond man, stepping forward and bowing shortly. Daine recognized him as Sir Renwald's aide in the Queen's Guard, Sir Marrin. He was a quick-tempered, brusque knight and she did not like him overly much. He continued hotly, "With all due respect, your majesties, you have all been rather hasty with your condemnation in recent times. The wild mage Treylrawne was innocent of wrongdoing, Daionarus also. My master has done nothing to merit your suspicion. For as long as he has served Raillenden, he has done so with faith and loyalty. He is an excellent leader, sire, and a devoted citizen."

The king raised a hand for silence, and Sir Marrin reluctantly paused in his exultations.

"I have no intention of hurling idle accusations," his superior stated coolly, eyes hot. "I am well aware of Sir Renwald's record of service and the debt to which we owe him, Sir Marrin. However, at the very least, your commander has lied by omission. I highly doubt that he is unaware of his lineage and, as such, he came to the Isles under false pretenses. Should the truth be to the contrary, I will offer him my sincere apologies _after_ he has been questioned." He looked around. "And after _he_ has offered his apologies for his absence. Where is he?"

Sir Marrin dropped his gaze then and shuffled restless feet. "I presume he had business with the Guard, your Highness."

King Benjamin eyed him sternly. "His king has requested an audience with him. I expect my knights to understand their priorities." He turned to a younger warrior with a merry face and nut-brown curls. "Alain. Find Sir Renwald and ask him to appear before me, please. _Now_."

The man's wild hair brushed the ground with his exuberant bow. "Aye, sire. I will fetch him at once. No man will ever have walked faster than I. I will be gone and returned so quickly, you will think it an illusion. I..."

"Alain."

"Milord?"

"If you don't leave this room at once, I will have you locked in the stocks until Midwinter."

Alain left the room.

"Fool," Sir Marrin muttered disparagingly.

"But an honest fool," the king returned pointedly.

The other man flushed with anger, but restrained his tongue.

"Da," Azassandra spoke up quietly. "Sir Renwald...well, he's never really done anything out of order, has he?"

Despite her words, the princess looked doubtful.

Daine recalled their first day in the Isles – the battle, and the impossibly clean appearance of both the Captain and Prince Braydon afterward. She couldn't hold back a frown. Something wasn't right at all.

"I've personally always found Sir Renwald to be respectful, your majesties," one of the other assembled knights volunteered. "If a little...distant. He's..."

"Mean," a small voice piped up unexpectedly.

Startled, they all turned toward the sound.

A tousled dark head appeared from under King Benjamin's desk, and a hereto silent warrior exclaimed in surprise.

"Aydie!"

The man shot forward and lifted a bundle of white pinafore and grubby bare feet into his arms. The little girl, undaunted by the gathering of important big people, grinned about cheerfully, revealing one missing front tooth.

Daine couldn't help but smile back, despite the gravity of the situation, and she noticed similar responses from her friends. Indeed, only Sir Marrin was able to maintain his surly expression in the face of such piquant glee.

Cradling the beaming child, the warrior spoke to his king ruefully. "Sire, I'm terribly sorry. My daughter has a tendency to leave the nursery to explore." He tried to scowl reprovingly but only managed a loving head shake. His adoration for her was clearly visible.

King Benjamin did not look in the least perturbed. "Ah yes," he said, reaching to shake the tiny proffered hand. "I believe I've encountered Mistress Aydie in her travels before."

"No doubt, milord," her father replied resignedly, carefully passing the babe into Azassandra's outstretched arms. "She's been a wayward one ever since she was a wee mite." He grinned wickedly. "Takes after her Ma."

Queen Lijana laughed. "I'll tell Rachael you said that, Aimon!" She looked at Aydie affectionately. "Now, what were saying about Sir Renwald, young one?"

"S'mean," the child told her, nodding vigorously. "He kicked Bobbins. Real hard."

"Bobbins?" the queen asked, confused.

"Aydie's kitten," Azassandra explained.

"Tortoiseshell, twelve weeks old, extremely mischievous sense of humour," Jardan related, gently tugging one of Aydie's hair ribbons.

"Uh huh, and he _kicked_ him," Bobbins' outraged protector repeated.

'_Good'_ came a comment in Daine's head. She started, then relaxed as Zek leapt to grip her shoulder. _'Bobbins ate all my dinner last night,' _the aggrieved marmoset explained at her enquiring glance.

She hid an utterly inappropriate smile. Jardan, overhearing, chuckled aloud and Zek, sensing a sympathetic presence, left Daine to curl about his neck.

'_Traitor'_ she told him idly, before turning back to the light interrogation.

"That was a very unkind thing for him to do, Aydie," King Benjamin agreed. "When was this?"

"Couple of days ago," Aydie continued blithely. "T'was after he talked to Lady Lucia for ages 'n ages in the rose garden."

Daine's brows arched. Beside her, Numair began to frown thoughtfully while Alanna, Onua and Thayet exchanged speculative glances.

"To Lady Lucia?" Queen Lijana asked warily.

"He meets with her a lot," their tiny informant chattered, thrilled by all the attention. "He don't like Bobbins, but he's got lots of friends. I always see'd him with Daion...Daion..." She looked to her Da for help.

"Daionarus," he supplied slowly, gaze fixed on his king and queen.

Any trace of amusement and airiness had disappeared from the room. As the tension shimmered, Daine realized she was holding her breath and let it out in an audible sigh.

"Was Sir Renwald talking to Daionarus when you saw them, Aydie love?" the queen prodded, kindly but urgently.

Sensing the new seriousness from her companions, the child was a little apprehensive. "N-no. He was helping him."

"Helping him? What do you mean?"

"Like Lucia helped me when I fell down. She made my arm all better."

King Benjamin's jaw was set but he kept his voice deliberately soft. "You mean he was using some of his magic on Daionarus? Is that what you saw, little one?"

Burrowing back into her father's arms, Aydie buried her face against him. Then she nodded.

"Right." The king took a deep, slow breath. "Thank you, Aydie. It might be best if you went to see Bobbins now, child. He'll be missing you. Aimon?"

The warrior nodded, keeping his furious expression from his daughter. "I'll take her back to the nursery, milord. Then I'll return."

He bowed the best he could with his now-sleepy armful and quickly left.

"Gods damn it, I knew it!" hissed the king, the instant that the door closed.

"Everybody stay calm," his wife ordered, fists clenched.

"I'll be calm when I have that bastard's head on a stake," Jardan countered, fury radiating from every inch of his body. As he strode toward the door, Zek chirruped in dismay and took refuge on a large bronze urn.

Thayet hesitated. "Are you so sure of what she observed? I mean...perhaps Sir Renwald really was trying to heal Daionarus..." Their queen's voice trailed off as King Benjamin shook his head sharply.

"That's not possible, your majesty," he refuted grimly. "Sir Renwald doesn't have the Gift. Or so we've been led to believe."

"I'll kill him, Gift or no," Jardan snapped, pulling away from Azassandra's restraining hands. "I swear to Mithros he'll die for this." His voice rang with cold promise.

"Jardan!" the princess protested. "I agree, he should be punished for what he's done, but it's foolhardy to challenge him alone. We don't know the extent of his power. The Blazewings are proof of what he's capable of."

"Where is Marrin?" her father asked suddenly, scanning the room intensely.

It took a moment for his words to register. Then they all turned, searching fruitlessly. The sour vassal had gone, likely slipped out during the commotion.

Face thunderous, the king pushed past Jardan and wrenched the door open, almost knocking over the incoming figure.

Panting with exertion, the knight Alain straightened and sketched a speedy bow. "Sir Renwald, sire, he's nowhere to be found!"

"Blood of Mithros!" the royal swore. He spun furiously around to face his remaining commanders. "Find him! Search the grounds and question the Guard. Have the Riders arrived yet?" He fired the question at the hapless Alain.

"No, milord," the young warrior uttered, taking an involuntary step back.

"Damn it, I requested their return days ago!"

"That's not all, your majesties," Alain said loudly over King Benjamin's wrath. "It's the Guard. They've...well, they've gone too, sire."

The room went deathly quiet, only the king's loud breathing audible.

"He's taken the Queen's Guard," was the eventual, disbelieving response.

"It would appear so, your highness."

The door opened carefully and Sir Aimon edged back in, brows knit in black anger.

The king met his gaze. "Exactly how many able troops do we have on hand, Aimon?" His voice was too calm, too even.

"When the Riders arrive..."

"And if they don't?"

"The Queen's Guard..."

"Either coerced away or turned traitor."

Not daring to speak, Daine watched as the knight's expression changed. The edge of worry on the hard, battle-worn faces sent up a flurry of wings in her belly.

"I want a headcount," King Benjamin ordered, eyes gleaming. "Every available warrior and mage in the vicinity. Have them brought here at once."

"Are you certain that he'll attack?" Azassandra asked, face pale.

Her father nodded resignedly. "Yes, I am. Marrin went scurrying to him with the latest report, no doubt. He'll be aware that we know now. Yes. He'll attack."

Daine swallowed hard. The feeling of fear before a battle was not uncommon, but this was different. Something was going to go wrong. Something terrible was going to happen before the end, she knew it.

Queen Lijana, as white as her daughter, turned to the Tortallans. "There's a peasant market taking place about a mile down the south road. We'll send troops to direct people to safe holdings. May I ask you to assist? Azassandra, you too, love. We don't know the urgency, but we can't take chances with defenseless lives."

"Of course, your majesty," Alanna nodded, hand at her sword. "We'll go directly."

"Thank you," the king said sincerely. "You don't know how we appreciate your aid." He smiled mirthlessly. "And if you see my honourable son or Lady Lucia about, ask them to return to the palace, would you please? I have a few questions for each of them."

Reaching absently for Zek, Daine turned back at his parting words.

"I am sure that you will regret coming here. I can only hope that you all live in order to do so."


	18. Outnumbered

**Disclaimer:** Anything that you recognise as Tamora Pierce's belongs to her.

**A/N:** I'm loading you all down with updates! Long chapter. I really hope this fic's not getting boring.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed since yesterday. :)

**Kit49:** Yes, definitely not liking Sir Marrin! :) I'm glad that you're still liking the plot though, and thanks for being such a faithful reviewer.

**Aindel S. Druida:** I know what you mean about the last chapter. Even though it was kind of a revelation bit, I actually wrote it like a filler chapter. Thanks for reviewing; I always appreciate your comments. You get right to the point...or something. I don't know what I'm trying to say, lol, but I do appreciate it.

**Roherwen: **Thank you! :) Your reviews have been really encouraging. And don't worry, I'm going for major D/N fluff in coming chapters!

**fell4adeadguy: **Battle scenes coming up! Thank you for the review!

**Equestrian-babe101: **Little bit of fluff in this chapter but lots more to come. :)

**DestinyHunter: **Thank you for reminding me about Jon! I'd completely forgotten about him. Poor Jon. :P Stuff about the animals will be coming up. Thank you for reviewing!

**Dragon and the Wild Mage: **Update just for you! :)

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**um: **LOL, I was wondering if anyone would catch that! I'm almost as much of a LOTR fan as I am a TP one. I'd like to say that I got hooked because of Tolkien's writing but sadly, I have to admit that Viggo Mortensen started it for me! :D I may have to let you down on the tragic ending though! But who knows?

**Lauren Raven:** Thank you for reviewing. And reading it all at once! I agree, men _are_ stupid, lol. Sometimes. And thanks for pointing that out about the Gift references. I think I used it when I should have said "magic". I'm trying to update the earlier chapters to fix that.

* * *

Daine stroked a taut hand over Zebara's neck and tightened the grip of her legs. Moving gently with the horse's gait, she tried to relax the tension in her body. In vain. It was no use. She was good and worried, although loath to admit that aloud. She pushed a handful of untidy curls back from her face, only to have the wind hurl them back into disarray.

'_What's happening?' _

The nosy mare's question was barely perceptible over the thumping of horse hooves. Daine groaned. Even the amusingly brash animal sounded anxious. It didn't bode well for them that no one was exactly exuding confidence. As they'd hurried to saddle mounts for the brief ride south, Azassandra had done her best to assure the Tortallans that everything would be fine, but the white lines of stress about her mouth had done little to sway anyone's doubts. The princess' stallion, Isis, was galloping close enough for Daine to see that the other girl looked even more uptight than she felt. Isis was also taking advantage of their proximity to give an indignant Zebara the occasional nip.

Numair, Alanna, Onua, Jardan and thirty mounted warriors were dispersed along the wide merchant road around her, trying to maintain an orderly pace while the horses seemed determined to flee. Thayet had stayed behind with Zek and a bespelled mirror, and was attempting to make contact with King Jon in Tortall. The gods above knew what was going on back there, Daine mused irritably. At some point in the future, she was going to insist on taking leave of her duties. For at least a week. Or perhaps a month.

It was never going to happen, but it was fair nice to think about.

King Benjamin and Sir Aimon, the recently titled Champion, had last been seen striding purposefully toward the military barracks. Queen Lijana, at her husband's request, was searching for her absent son. Despite his wife's protests, the king seemed resolute that Braydon was somehow involved with Sir Renwald. Daine wondered if he knew something that they did not.

'_Well?' _Zebara prodded impatiently.

'_We're going to the peasant markets to warn the people that there might be danger. That's all. It's probably nothing.'_

'_Your flanks twitch when you lie.'_

Well, if there was ever a habit she was going to break!

Pointedly refusing to respond to that comment, Daine turned her attention back to the road. It was dusty and travel-worn, apparently a popular route for trade. At various intervals, they passed family groups resting on embankments of dry yellow grass and tried not to shower the unfortunate folk with dirt.

Before long, she heard the familiar sounds of a market fete - breathy young laughter, the wheedling calls of peddlers and nimble fingers dancing on lute strings. It was such a...a human sight, she thought, as the company brought their stamping, snuffling animals to a halt. And so utterly incongruous with the situation at hand. There were dark-haired, bright-eyed people absolutely everywhere, white teeth flashing in leathered faces as they enjoyed the revels.

A coarse-featured lady knight turned in her perch to look at the Tortallans. "It would be best if we dismount, I think. We want to cause as little panic as possible. The peasants in this part of Raillenden are not hostile toward the Crown; they shouldn't give you much trouble. Separate and approach people, explain that there is a danger of a siege at the palace, and direct people toward the southern keeps." She pointed toward a road spindling into the mountains. "In that direction. Troops have already been allocated to assist there. We've undergone this procedure before, when the nearby island clusters decide to become aggressive. Everyone understands the importance of these precautions."

That said, she swung herself elegantly to the ground and led her horse into the crowd, clearly expecting them to follow suit. Daine looked at Numair, and smiled suddenly. The mage had not hesitated to grasp the opportunity of dismounting. He was already back on his feet and grabbing for Bandit's leading rope. Shrugging, she slid easily from Zebara's back, looking into the throngs of market-folk once more. It was only then that she became aware that the music and laughter had stopped. Within moments of their arrival, the atmosphere had taken on the gloom of the palace. They were like a traveling pack of doom-prophets, she frowned. The previously merry peasants had moved into scattered huddles and were watching them somberly, clearly wary. As well they might be, she conceded ruefully, having half of the king's armed Second Battalion disrupt their festivities.

"Magelet?"

Turning, she found Numair hovering behind her. He quirked a dark brow in enquiry.

"Are you coming?" He looked at her closer. "Are you all right, sweet? I know things seem bad right now, but..."

But they could, and most likely _would_, get a lot worse.

Shoving her worries back, Daine forced a tight smile to her face. "I'm fine, Numair. Let's go. We don't know how much time we have."

Urging a reluctant Zebara on, she strode forward at Numair's side. A little ahead of them, Alanna and Onua had stopped to speak with a group of peddlers, their faces intent. The Lioness gestured toward the southern mountains and nodded gratefully when the men began to hurriedly assemble their carts.

An adolescent boy pulled away from his father and ran up to Numair, expression fearful.

"Please, sire, can you tell us what's goin' on?"

The mage bent to reassure him, before stepping to speak with his father. Daine shot an assessing gaze about the busy plain. Word was spreading quickly. The scene was one of escalating motion as parents gathered their children and merchants collected their goods. Raillenden guards had stepped in to help carry belongings...and babies, she noticed with faint surprise.

The undercurrent of urgency was barely disguised.

Scooting around an abandoned fruit stall, she dodged dripping melon juice and headed for a young family clustered about a wagon.

"Do you need any help?" she asked politely, already reaching for a bundle of not-so-fresh fish.

The mother straightened and beamed at her. Around Onua's age, she was barely drooping under the weight of the two..._three_ babes slung around her neck and back in muslin pouches. A sobbing child clung to her legs, while another of his siblings slept on obliviously in the wagon. Daine blinked. Mithros bless, she didn't know how some women coped.

"Oh, thank you! You're a gods-send. Would you mind terribly packing up those silk screens, please? I don't know what I'm going to do with them," she chattered, hands efficiently tying cloth parcels together. "Tomei - my husband - is forever telling me that I wouldn't know a sensible buy if it came up and waved at me, but they were so cheap! I'm Molly, by the way. You must be the new wild mage. How are you getting on with Jardan? He's such a dear boy. Always had a little something for my Bobby. That's Bobby over there, sleeping. Honestly, the child can sleep through anything. Why, once there was a thunderstorm and..."

Taken aback, Daine picked up a screen and tried to make sense of the conversation tumbling from Molly's busy lips. She wasn't sure what surprised her the most: the fact that the woman was acquainted with Jardan, the fact that she was apparently acquainted with _her_ or the unexpectedly educated tones.

"You know Jardan?" she asked, when her companion paused for a much-needed breath.

It didn't seem polite to question a woman on why her voice didn't fit her situation.

"Oh, yes. We're all very fond of him. So kind. I used to work at the palace, you see," she explained. "As a nursemaid. I was very fortunate in my placing there. I'm sure you know how wonderful Her Majesty is. The queen takes very good care of her household. Do you know, she even insists that the domestic staff receive a basic education? It took time away from our duties, of course, but Tomei appreciates it now that I can help with the money." She laughed suddenly. "Of course, my helping with the money usually involves spending it. Anyway, Jardan would often play games with the children. Such a shame what happened to his betrothed. She was a lovely girl."

A muscular man with extraordinary coloured eyes - like sunlit whisky - appeared and walked toward them. Dressed in a loose shirt and trousers, he stepped jauntily, seemingly relaxed about the evacuation. He winked at Molly and grinned at Daine, and she noticed a multitude of twinkling gold earbobs. Reaching down, he swung the crying boy-child into his arms, surprising him out of a wail.

"This is my husband," Molly introduced them. "Tomei, this is the visiting wild mage, Mistress Sarrasri."

Tomei carried his son to the loaded wagon and wrapped him in a blanket. Then he turned around to bob respectfully, cocking a cheerful salute.

Daine couldn't help but smile back at such tenacious merriment. She looked questioningly at Molly.

"You've heard of me then, m'am?"

The other woman tilted her head. "I left the queen's employ when I met Tomei. He travels, you see," she added vaguely. "But I still have my friends there. I'm just an old gossip, I'm afraid!" This confession was uttered with blunt jollity. "I heard that another wild mage had come." Her gaze sharpened suddenly. "This trouble at the palace. Does...does it have something to do with that Sir Renwald, Mistress?"

Daine stared at her in shock. She searched for the right words, not sure how much King Benjamin would appreciate her giving away. Although she wouldn't be precisely astonished if Molly knew more than she did!

"Why...would you think that?" she asked carefully.

Molly looked around a little nervously, as if fearing the man himself was lurking about. "I - I was somewhere I...shouldn't have been once. I overheard a conversation between Sir Renwald and Lady Lucia Marksham. I know I should have told someone but I thought...he's such a powerful man and..."

Daine reached out a reassuring hand to halt her anxious babbling.

"It's all right, Molly. I won't mention your name to anyone, I promise. What was the conversation about?"

"Well, I really only listened when I heard the word 'Renaikev', Mistress. I mean, you don't hear anything about that family anymore, you see. So naturally I was interested. Then Lady Lucia - so pretty, that one - told Sir Renwald that he would be found out and that he had to stop. It sounded suspicious, if you see what I mean."

"Did you hear anything else?" Daine asked, brows knit.

Was the beautiful healer involved too? It certainly sounded like it.

"Nothing relevant, Mistress Sarrasri. I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "No, don't be sorry, Molly. And please, call me Daine." Awkwardly, she tried to ask the question niggling at her mind. "D'you think that Sir Renwald and Lady Lucia are...involved?"

Molly stared at her blankly for a moment, before breaking into spontaneous laughter.

Daine stopped, perplexed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh! It's just...I don't know what view you have of us here in the Isles, Daine, but even we draw the line at that kind of companionship!"

"What do you mean?"

"Well...you do _know_ that Sir Renwald and Lady Lucia are brother and sister?"

At Daine's expression, the amusement in Molly's face died.

"I heard them talking about their father. I thought it was common knowledge... Certainly in the servants' halls..."

"I don't know." Daine thought back quickly. No, she was sure no one had ever implied anything of the sort. "No, I don't think it is."

"Molly?"

They both looked up to see Tomei standing patiently by the hitched wagon. Behind him, a stout ox shifted placidly.

"We should go, love."

Only a few peasant families remained in the plains, dotted about in straggling groups. Daine could see the backs of carts and wagons disappearing into the mountains. Hopefully to reach safety. These people with their friendly smiles and craftsfolk hands would be as out of place on a battlefield as the king's knights were at a fete.

Molly looked at her kin and hesitated.

Daine spoke up at once, not wanting the woman to risk harm because of her. "'Tis best to get your family to the keeps as quickly as you can. I just hope that it proves to be unnecessary."

Tomei reached out to help his nodding wife into the wagon. She settled herself fussily and turned back once more.

"I hope I was of some help."

"You were. Thank you for telling me."

As the wagon rattled out of a rut, Daine found herself caught by an intense whisky gaze.

"Be careful, Mistress Sarrasri," Tomei said quietly. "The danger has been a long time coming, I think."

And with those ominous words the couple departed, their babies sniffling and Molly waving.

Voices mumbled incoherently nearby but Daine was oblivious. She chewed on her lip - a gesture that Numair frequently pointed out - and tried to reason things through in her mind.

When a large hand touched her shoulder, she jumped and whirled to face the dark figure.

"Sorry, sweet," Numair apologized quickly, trailing caressing fingers down the neckline of her shirt before letting his arm drop. "I didn't mean to frighten you. The knights are preparing to head back to the palace and...what's happened?" he asked sharply, peering into her expressive face. He grasped her upper arms in a gentle hold.

Eyes shadowed and for once difficult for the mage to read, she told him what Molly had said, omitting the woman's name as pledged, even to the lover she trusted implicitly. A promise was a promise.

Numair frowned, lightly stroking her back. They'd moved unconsciously into each other arms as she explained, the closeness so natural that neither of them was aware of their embrace.

"So Lucia is a Renaikev also," he murmured slowly.

"It would seem so," Daine agreed. She rolled her eyes. "It's getting to be a regular family gathering around here."

"I honestly didn't foresee that," Numair stated, seemingly astounded by the fact.

Daine poked him in the ribs and laughed. She couldn't help it.

"What?" he asked defensively.

"Nothing. It's just not often that _I_ get to inform _you_ of something, that's all, Master Mage," she teased.

He scowled at her in mock-annoyance.

"I'll have you know, my beautiful former student, that..."

What he'd have his beautiful former student know, she never found out. Alanna, already mounted on her white gelding, chose that moment to interrupt.

"If you two are quite finished swooning over each other in the middle of an open field," she began, and Numair glared at her.

"We're not swoon..."

He stopped and flushed suddenly, and Daine realised that she was close enough to feel warm breath brushing her cheek.

Becoming aware of many amused faces, they fell apart, exchanging regretful looks.

"As I was saying," Alanna countered, eyes sparkling amethyst, "We're about to depart. Many of the troops have in fact _already_ departed. You two are the only people still on foot. I thought it best to intervene before you completely forgot yourselves and shocked my poor horse."

"Alanna!" Daine's cheeks grew hot with embarrassment.

A reluctant smile tugged at Numair's mouth.

"I didn't realise that you'd become our moral guardian," he said pointedly to Alanna.

She grinned cheekily back, clicked her tongue and compelled a disdainful Abacus forward.

Daine reached for Zebara and prepared to launch herself up. Numair grasped her hand and she stopped, surprised.

"Numair? What is it?"

He looked down into her quizzical, upturned face but didn't say anything for a moment. She waited, curious, knowing that he was wise to the need for haste.

When he finally spoke, it only heightened her confusion.

"You know that I love you."

His deep voice was serious and intent.

She looked down at his long brown fingers, wrapped so firmly about her own.

"I know," she said, frowning up into steady dark eyes. "I know that, Numair."

He let out a deep breath and smiled, not very convincingly. Raising her smaller fingers to his lips, he pressed a warm kiss to her knuckles. They stood stock-still, hand-in-hand, until Azassandra startled them both by galloping within inches of their feet.

"Have you seen Jardan?" she asked, looking troubled.

Daine shook her head. "He might have left with the Battalion."

"He didn't," Numair denied. "They took his horse with them but I saw him take hawk-form a while ago."

Both girls paled.

"You don't think he's gone after Sir Renwald alone, do you?" Azassandra asked no one in particular.

"He flew in the direction of the palace. Perhaps he just wanted faster passage back," the mage suggested.

"Perhaps," she replied doubtfully. "But knowing Jardan, I somehow doubt it." The princess pinched her nose in her father's familiar gesture. "I'm sure he's trailing that bastard. He's been living for this for four years."

Tension descended upon the trio as Daine and Numair mounted a gossiping Zebara and Bandit. They rode back to the palace in silent convoy.

* * *

"Honestly, father, I'm hurt. I really am."

The sneering voice reached Daine's ears as she followed Alanna into the Royal Hall. It had taken them a good quarter hour to push their way through the throng of soldiers in the courtyard outside. She couldn't believe how many regiments had been assembled in such a short time.

Perhaps there was hope yet.

In the midst of gathered nobles and knights, Prince Braydon had made his reappearance. A red-faced King Benjamin emanated fury before him.

"You knew Renwald Verran's true identity. Correct?"

"Possibly," Braydon conceded with a sly stretching smile.

Daine was put forcibly in mind of a snake.

"Braydon!" Azassandra exclaimed, face flushed and clothes wrinkled as she pulled free of the chattering masses. "Where have you been?"

"Probably sniffing about garbage middens with the rest of his kind," the king snapped, no love lost between father and son.

Yes, there were definitely rat-like tendencies there too.

"Why would you do this?" Queen Lijana asked, standing up from her throne. Braydon's mother looked devastated. "Why would you collude against us? You're not going to tell me that you're kin to him. I can testify to that, at least!"

The prince sneered and remained stubbornly silent. The king threw up his hands in disgust.

A flustered steel-haired commander shoved his way into the room, almost falling before his ruler.

"Sire," he gasped. "Lady Lucia has been located."

Braydon looked over at him sharply. Daine shared a speaking glance with Numair. They would have to tell the royals what they'd discovered. Azassandra, upon being informed of the familial relationship a few minutes earlier, had been shocked. As Daine had suspected, it was not common knowledge. At least not beyond the servants' quarters.

"Then have her brought here at once," King Benjamin ordered impatiently. "If she's been keeping company with Verran, she may be involved."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, sire," the man refuted grimly. "She's currently on route to the mausoleum. She's dead, milord."

The breath caught in Daine's throat and she heard Azassandra's soft gasp.

But it was Braydon's reaction that really drew attention.

Porcelain-white, the ostracized young heir reared back.

"No!" he said blankly, looking - for just a moment - like a lost child. Then anger suffused his expression. He strode forward and grabbed the older man by his shirt. "_You're lying_."

"Braydon!" his father roared. "Let him go at once!"

The shaken knight jerked free of Braydon's brutal grip and straightened his clothes. "She's dead, Your Highness," he told the prince quietly. "I'm sorry if you were close to her but...she's dead."

Glittering eyes darting about the hushed room, Braydon backed up a few steps and shook his head. Then, in an unexpected movement, he pushed the man roughly out of his way and fled the room.

Queen Lijana, despite her husband's fierce commands to the contrary, hurried after him.

Numair moved to help the poor vassal up and Daine cleared her throat.

"How did she die?" she asked carefully.

Jaw tight, the king waited tensely for the answer.

"It was most likely magically-induced," they were told. "There's not a mark on her."

When Daine fell momentarily silent, Numair glanced at her before matter-of-factly informing the others of Lucia's connection with Renwald.

"Siblings," King Benjamin repeated, amazed. "I'd no idea."

"No," Daine murmured, just loud enough for her love's ears. "Neither did Numair astonishingly."

He pinched her playfully, and surreptitiously, on the waist.

Thayet found them in the crowd then.

"There you are," she said soberly. "How did it go at the market?"

"Everyone safe, we hope," Numair answered. "Did you manage to contact Jon?"

The queen nodded, mouth softening for a moment. "Yes. He was rather...insistent that we all return at once." She put her shoulders back. "I told him that was impossible, that we have duties here."

"And did he accept that?" Daine was doubtful, thinking of their king's notorious stubborn streak.

"Eventually," said Thayet dryly. "He sends his greetings. And his knights. A Tortallan fleet is on its way."

"Hopefully it won't be needed," Alanna muttered.

And hopefully it would get there in time. The words popped uninvited into Daine's mind.

"If not, then we'll have a heavy escort home," Thayet nodded. "Which can't be a bad thing."

The king came to join them, Sir Aimon at his side. Both men were rigid with strain.

"Your majesty," Alanna bowed shortly. "Have the Riders arrived yet? I see a number of troops have answered the summons."

When King Benjamin eventually answered, it was in flat, stricken tones. "The Riders have been located. Or their remains have. Thousands of men and women torn to pieces on the eastern peninsula."

Nausea kicked in Daine's belly and her hand rose to her mouth. _Gods..._

"Blazewings?" Numair asked tersely.

Sir Aimon nodded, his grief tightly roped back. "Looks like it. It would have taken a massive army to defeat the Riders and we've had no reports of invasion. No human would kill in such a way, at any rate."

Daine squeezed Numair's hand tight enough to contract the bones but he didn't pull away.

"How many available troops do you have?" Alanna watched the Sailan leaders with serious eyes.

The king sighed. "Hundreds, possibly thousands. But without the Riders and the Guard..."

"We may be able to get the Guard back," Numair stated. "If they're under mind-control, that _is_ something we can fight."

"And if they've turned traitor, that's yet another card against us."

A sudden commotion had them all turning toward the large double doors. A bloody, bedraggled and barely clothed figure stumbled into the room and fell to his knees. Azassandra was the first to recognise him. She ran forward in horror.

"Jardan! Mithros, what _happened_ to you?"

Daine joined her at his side, scanning the wild mage's face. He was blanched and sweat-streaked, chest heaving with deep breaths.

"Didn't get very far," he panted. "Ran into a pack of Blazewings. Maybe six. Seven. I don't know. I was going to question the birds, see if they've seen anything, but they've all taken flight. Every animal in the vicinity is heading for the hills. Now I know why." He looked up at the king. "Verran is on his way here with an army of rebel soldiers," he paused for air, "And Blazewings."

"Seven?" King Benjamin asked, crouching by Jardan to examine his injuries.

"No."

Something in his voice, weak though it was, commanded the attention of the room.

"That was just a scout pack, sent ahead. There's more."

"How many?" Daine asked, dreading the answer.

"Thousands."


End file.
